


Gravity Rises: Not What He Wants [Episode Six]

by BrightnessWings19



Series: Gravity Rises Season Two [6]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gravity Rises, Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightnessWings19/pseuds/BrightnessWings19
Summary: The Pines can finally begin work on the portal. But to fully turn it on, they need to set off gravitational anomalies across the town. The Order of the Crescent Eye is intent on preventing this - and their triangular leader is intent on keeping Ford away from his brother.





	1. Chapter 1

When Blind Lincoln left for the forest, he had imagined a chance to be outside, to wander, to escape the narrow confines of the Order headquarters for once. Instead, he was stuck in this cave.

Escaping one stony prison for another. Wonderful.

The only person to complain to was Bill, who was probably laughing to himself about the irony of it all. Lincoln _should_ be out there enjoying the sun, even if it was weak and wintery, but he couldn’t. Because of Stanford Pines’ pesky cameras.

They were boxy, dilapidated old things, but apparently a fair number of them still worked. Lincoln had no idea where they were, had no way to avoid them. But Bill did. So to get Lincoln out here, Bill had possessed him and navigated through the forest, out of the cameras’ views.

It’d been the first time in years that Lincoln had been possessed, and getting torn out of his body hadn’t gotten any easier. But it was over now. Now, he had all the time in the world to stare at the ancient prophecies scrawled on the stone walls of his cave.

Luckily, no cameras could see the entrance to his cave, so Lincoln didn’t have to stay entirely out of the sun. He’d brought supplies to attempt translations of the prophecies, but his mind wasn’t wired for language, and he spent most of his time sitting and basking in the sun.

He didn’t get much sunlight these days. Or any, really.

Currently, he sat on a rock just outside the cave, watching the sunset. He couldn’t make out the whole thing through these trees, but what he could see was beautiful. Bare tree trunks spindled upward, cutting stark lines through the splayed red light of the sun. Clouds just above the sun glowed pink, but the sky on either side was a rich, deep red. Lincoln thought it must be the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen.

Not that it had much competition.

Lincoln watched, still as a statue, as the sun gradually sank behind the distant mountains, as the stars began to peek through the periwinkle sky, as the color of the sky faded from purple-blue to purple-black. He had watched the sunset every night since arriving at this cave, and he treasured every one. It meant sitting in frigid temperatures, but he didn’t mind. The cold made him feel alive.

After a while, he carefully picked himself up and climbed down from the rock. With one last smile up at the stars, he ambled back into his cave.

He returned to his bedroll and sat beside it, leaning against the rock wall with a sigh. There didn’t seem to be much point behind him coming out here. Bill had made some offhand comment about recreating the memory gun, but then he’d instructed Lincoln to leave the memory gun with Pacifica, and Lincoln couldn’t go out and talk with the dwarves anyway, what with those cameras. When he’d found out he’d be staying in the cave of prophecies, he brought along paper and pencils and a book or two for an attempt at translation, but that was just for his own sanity. The only reason he’d been given for this expedition was to be “out of the way for a few weeks.” Why that was necessary, Lincoln did not know.

But then, he’d been ordered by Bill. Lincoln couldn’t exactly disobey a direct order from Bill.

Eventually, Lincoln crawled into his sleeping bag. He may as well try to sleep. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

He was in the middle of a dream when something odd — his hands, with six fingers instead of five — pulled him into lucidity. He glanced around the dream version of the Order headquarters, excitement bubbling in his heart. Lucid dreams without Bill were rare, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do in this one. Lincoln jumped into the air and flew through the ceiling out into the daylight, which was the same shade of red as tonight’s sunset. He soared across the sky, into the wisps of light on the horizon. Sometimes, a person needed a good flying dream, and Lincoln took the chance to have one whenever he could.

“Having **fun** , **Blind Eye**?”

Lincoln landed on a patch of ground that floated in the sky, staring in dismay at the sun. It had morphed from a hazy circle into a well-defined triangle.

Bill was here.

“Am I clear to go back, then?” Lincoln asked as Bill floated over to him.

“ **No** ,” Bill said flatly. “Though I **wonder** if your **presence** would have **altered** the events of **tonight**.”

Lincoln returned Bill’s flat tone with a flat stare. “Whatever happened, cut Pacifica some slack. She’s new to this.”

“Our **cult members** aren’t,” Bill snapped. “They had **one job** , and the Pines **still** managed to steal something.”

Lincoln started. “The Pines stole something? From the Order? What?”

“The **last** thing they needed to set their **plan** in motion.”

Lincoln pursed his lips in frustration. He hated when Bill gave vague answers like this, but trying to get anything more specific would be futile.

“ **Oh** , and they destroyed the **memory gun** , too,” Bill said.

“They _what_?” Lincoln said in disbelief. “So now we’re down to Northwest and his amulet?”

“You relied on **Lone Wolf’s** amulet **before** ,” Bill pointed out. “The **memory gun** was just for **emergencies**.”

“Yes, but before Grace was old enough to use it — after Gaston grew out of its powers — there was over a decade when nobody had the amulet at all!”

“It **is** rather frustrating that the Northwests **hoard** that **amulet** ,” Bill said. “But the loss of the memory gun doesn’t **matter**. Not **now.** Not when the only thing between me and my **freedom** is the **Pines** family.”

_And potentially your Symbols_ , Lincoln thought. But _he_ was a Symbol, and he was _helping_ Bill gain his freedom. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to join in on fulfilling the prophecy, even if he wanted to. Which was why, as he’d gathered over the years, Bill had wanted his soul.

“ **Anyway** , I came to **warn** you,” Bill said. “Someday **soon** , there’s going to be a **period** of **time** that is **full** of **gravitational anomalies**. **Unless** the rest of the Order manages to put a **stop** to this, but I **doubt** it. My only options are to **destroy** from the **outside** or **manipulate** from the **inside** , and **neither** of them seem very **reliable**.”

“Gravitational anomalies?” Lincoln repeated. He frowned. “As in gravity changing strength or direction? What are they doing that could cause _that_?”

Bill watched Lincoln quietly for a moment, the look in his eye unreadable. “They’re **activating** an **interdimensional portal** ,” he finally said.

Lincoln’s sense of relief over Bill actually answering him for once was quickly overtaken by confused joy. “That’s — that’s great, then!” he said. “You can escape through that!”

The patch of ground upon which he stood suddenly started rumbling violently, sending Lincoln to his knees. Bill grew until he filled Lincoln’s entire field of vision. **“You think I haven’t tried that?”** he thundered. **“Of course I tried that! I had the portal built for that purpose!”**

Lincoln shakily got to his feet. “What. . . what happened?”

“It didn’t **work** , **obviously**.” Bill returned to his normal size. “I had it **coded** for my **dimension** , but when I tried to go **through** , it **spit** me back **out**. That’s why I was so **weak** when we first **met**.”

Lincoln didn’t think Bill had been weak at all when they’d first met, though the demon had seemed to get stronger over the years. He thought all this over for a while, then said quietly, “And that was thirty years ago?”

 Bill didn’t respond at first. He just floated there in silence.

“ **Yes** ,” he finally said. “Around the time you **lost** your **memory**.”

Lincoln nodded. He’d thought so.

“Forgive me for asking,” he said, “but I don’t understand why the Pines reactivating the portal is a bad thing. Couldn’t you just avoid it?”

“I **could** ,” Bill said. “Reactivating the **portal** won’t **undo** my **plans** , but it will make things **highly inconvenient**. For **one** , if anyone **found out** how much it can **weaken** me, they could use that **against** me. For **another** , the Pines are **rescuing** someone who has spent **thirty years** in **my** dimension — one of my **Symbols** , at that. There are already **nine** inside town **boundaries** , and I don’t want **ten**. Plus, I have **no idea** how much **information** he has that could lead to my **downfall**.”

“So trying to stop them is a preventative measure,” Lincoln surmised.

“ **Yes**.”

“Why don’t you send me to put a stop to it, then? It sounds like they’re competent, at least enough to best the Order without me, but if I was there, wouldn’t there be a better chance of defeating them?”

Lincoln attempted to ask the question as innocently as possible, but it wasn’t innocent. Throughout this conversation, he had been forming a theory, and the answer to his question could confirm or deny it.

But it didn’t matter how innocently he asked it, because Bill could, of course, read his mind. After staring at Lincoln for an uncomfortable minute, the demon said, “I **thought** you didn’t **want** to regain your **memory** anymore.”

“I don’t,” said Lincoln, “not nearly as much as I used to. I am still curious, though.” May as well ask outright, since Bill already knew he was thinking it. “Did I know the Pines?”

“I am **not** going to answer that question.” Bill narrowed his eye. “You’ve **already** gotten **enough** out of me. The only reason I dare tell you **anything** is because, should you ever start to **tell** anyone, I can just **possess** you to **prevent** it.”

The demon floated up high enough that Lincoln had to crane his neck to see him. “ **Gravitational anomalies** ,” he said. “They’re coming, so don’t **panic.** And try to **stay inside**. Better you get **thrown around** a cave than **fly up** into the air and then **plummet** back down.”

“What are you going to do?” Lincoln asked. “How are you going to stop the Pines?”

Bill sighed. “Keep **throwing** Order members at them, I suppose. I’ll attempt to **turn** the Pines **against** each other, too. Nice to know **you’ll** be here **worrying** about my success.”

Lincoln gave a bow. “I always wish success upon my master.”

Bill paused. Then he laughed. “There was a **time** ,” he said, “when you truly **meant** that. Farewell, **Blind Eye**. Hopefully the **next** time we see each other, it’ll be in **victory**.”

Bill turned and flew into the setting sun.

Lincoln looked around the dusky sky of his dream world, frozen in a perpetual sunset. He could go flying again. . . but Bill had thoroughly killed that mood. So he sat on the edge of his floating patch of land and gazed down on the world below.

Before he had lost his memory, Lincoln had known the Pines. He was sure of it. Bill couldn’t lie outright; he could only refuse to answer. If the answer had been no, he would’ve said no. But he didn’t.

A lot of things fit into place then. Why Lincoln wasn’t allowed to go near the Pines, why he’d been kicked out just before the Pines infiltrated the Order. It was because he’d known the Pines. Because, for whatever reason, Bill couldn’t let them find him.

Or let Lincoln remember them, perhaps, but he doubted that would happen. His memory had been gone for thirty years; there was almost no chance of retrieving it now.

Years ago, that would have filled him with rage. Now, he only felt a dull twinge of sadness. A lot had happened in thirty years. Lincoln had built a new life for himself.

Yet as he sat on his grassy island, feet dangling over the dreamworld below, he couldn’t help but feel that his previous life had been a better one.


	2. Chapter 2

Mabel Pines awoke long after the sun had risen — which was saying something, considering that the sun rose fairly late in wintery Oregon. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the splintering ceiling, oddly content. She’d slept well last night, better than most nights these days, and she’d woken up happy. Her foggy mind tried to figure out why that was.

Mabel shot up in bed.

_The portal!_

They’d gotten the first Journal — they’d escaped the Order — they’d gone down to the basement — Ford had turned on the portal! They were going to rescue Stanley!

Mabel jumped to her feet and ran down from the attic, feet pounding on the stairs. She’d slept in late, Ford was probably already down there!

“Shh, Mabes.”

Mabel stumbled to a stop as she saw her brother, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room with a pig in his lap. She wasn’t used to being quieted by Dipper; usually _she_ was the one telling _him_ to be quiet. “What?”

Dipper’s eyes flicked from Mabel to the couch. “You’ll wake. . . oh, too late.”

Melody Ramirez’s head lifted, her eyes peering blearily at Mabel. “Morning,” she said, the word punctuated by a yawn.

“O-oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to. . . you slept on the couch?” Mabel asked.

Melody sat up and stretched. “Yep, it’s my bed when I stay over. Usually I’m the first one awake, so you kids never see me sleepin’ here, but. . . well, let’s just say I was kept up by a certain paranormal researcher.”

Right! “Oh, yeah, where’s Ford? Is he already down in the basement?”

Melody gave a short laugh. “I sure hope not. He should still be asleep. I finally convinced him to get some shut-eye a few hours ago.” She yawned again. “Let him sleep, okay? He needs it.”

Though the housekeeper had a very different perspective on sleep than Mabel and Ford did, even Mabel could agree with that. If he really only had fallen asleep a few hours ago, that meant he’d been up for almost twenty-four hours. Ford needed to have a clear mind in order to reactivate the portal.

Plus, Ford being asleep meant that Mabel could go read the Journals.

“Okay,” she said to Melody. “Can I go down and get one of the Journals? I can take Dipper with me. I wanna read them when Ford’s not using them for the portal.”

Melody considered this, then gave a careful nod. “All right. Take Dipper with you, and don’t touch anything except for the Journal. _Anything_ ,” she reiterated. “If Ford wakes up to find that we ruined something, he’ll never sleep again. Go in, grab the Journal, come straight back up here. Can you do that?”

“Will do,” Mabel said. “That okay, Dip?”

“Yep!” Dipper nudged Waddles off him, then jumped to his feet. “Which one do you wanna grab?”

“The first one,” Mabel said immediately. “I want to start from the beginning.”

The twins went into the gift shop, opened the vending machine, and took the elevator down to the basement. A friendly hum greeted them as the elevator doors slid open. The portal wasn’t all the way on — the doorway to the other dimension hadn’t opened yet — but it was in active stasis while it waited for Ford to complete it. Mabel hurried from the elevator to the control station where the Journals lay open, flipping the covers up until she found the first one. She gathered it in her arms and smiled through the observation window at the portal. “Hang in there, Stanley, we’re close,” she said. Then she headed back to the elevator.

Dipper punched the button, and the elevator rumbled upwards. “Hopefully, Melody went back to sleep,” he said. “We should take this up to the attic so we don’t disturb her.” He shook his head. “Before this morning, I never imagined Melody needing things like sleep. She just seemed to always have the energy to take care of Ford and the Mystery Museum and us, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Mabel replied. She was glad she wasn’t the only one; seeing Melody half awake on the couch had been kind of shocking.

They went back out to the gift shop, closing the vending machine quietly behind them, and then tip-toed across the living room, with Dipper picking up Waddles on the way. They were halfway up the stairs when Melody mumbled from the couch, “Thanks for thinking of me, kids. Sorry I’m not up yet. Do you think you could get your own breakfast this morning?”

Right, breakfast. Mabel always forgot about breakfast. But now that Melody mentioned it, she _was_ hungry.

“Of course,” Dipper said. He and Mabel went back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he dropped the pig and stuck two pieces of bread in the toaster. He dropped a third piece of bread on the floor for Waddles. “You want jam?” he asked Mabel.

“Sure,” she said distractedly. She was staring down at the Journal, torn between wanting to read it right now and wanting to wait until they were settled upstairs. She didn’t want anything to disrupt her reading, not even toast popping out of the toaster.

Dipper saw the look on her face. “You can head up, Mabes, I’ll bring the toast up in a minute.”

She blinked. “N-no, I wouldn’t want to start it without you.” She wanted him to be there to, well, freak out to when she started reading the first Journal.

So Dipper finished making the toast, put the two pieces on paper plates, spread jam on both, and insisted on carrying both plates so that nothing got on the Journal. With that, the twins headed up the stairs, being careful to step softly so they wouldn’t disturb Melody.

Finally, they made it up to the attic. Mabel plopped down on the wooden floor, the Journal on her lap, as Dipper sat nearby and put their plates nearby. He pushed a nosy Waddles away from their food. “You ready for this?” he asked.

“Not really,” Mabel said. She couldn’t resist a grin as she looked down at the first Journal. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

She ran her hand over the cover, opened it, and began to read.

The first Journal was amazing, almost even better than the third. Mabel drank in every word, even the unimportant ones, and spent a long time on each page before turning it. She knew it drove Dipper crazy when she did that, but she couldn’t help it — she couldn’t rush this. To Dipper’s credit, he managed to resist complaining.

The Ford in the first Journal was almost a different person from the Ford in the third. He was so buoyant, so excited, and it showed in both his words and his handwriting — the more excited he got, the more slanted and rushed it was. That enthusiasm hadn’t disappeared entirely in the third Journal, but it was more subdued, more mature. Mabel kinda preferred this immature, excitable Ford.

She was so engrossed in the Journal that she didn’t hear Ford’s footsteps behind her. “Are you enjoying that?”

Mabel jumped and turned guiltily to her uncle. “S-sorry, I was just—”

Ford put up a hand to forestall her. “It’s completely fine. I would like to read through the first Journal as well and gain more of my memories, but I’ve decided to wait until Stanley is safe. If I were you, I would have read it at first chance too.”

“Y-yeah.” Mabel got to her feet and handed the Journal to its author. “I’m, um, glad you’re okay with it. But now we’re going down to the basement?”

“I am,” Ford said, “and you’re welcome to come with me. Though if I kept you down there all day without any sunlight, Melody would have my head. Wouldn’t do to lose that before I can rescue my brother.” He smiled wryly. “Speaking of Melody, would you please come help me explain why we absolutely cannot open the Mystery Museum until the portal is repaired?”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “She wants to open the Museum? Now?”

“Not today,” Ford said. “It’s far too late for that. She hasn’t said anything about opening it tomorrow, either, but better to put a stop to it before it starts. Opening our house to the public is one of the worst possible things we could do right now. I’m sure you know why, and I figure Melody hearing it from you will be more effective than hearing it from me.”

“Sure,” Mabel said. “I can explain it. But. . . how do you know that I’ve thought it all through?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “We have similar thought processes. Are you telling me you _haven’t_ thought it all through?”

He had a point.

Mabel, Dipper, and Ford left the attic and started down the stairs. “Hey Ford,” Dipper said, about halfway down, “how come you don’t mention Stanley in the first Journal at all?”

Ford paused on a step and didn’t speak for a long moment. Mabel peered up at his face, and he didn’t look sad or anything, just pensive. Like he was trying to remember.

“It’s a research journal, not a diary,” he finally said. “My first Journal was strictly for research, so I had no need to bring him up. I didn’t think about him too much, either — Lee and I were on good terms back then, don’t get me wrong. But we only ever talked on our birthday, really. Keeping contact long-distance wasn’t as simple as an email in those days. It’s honestly a miracle he dropped everything to come help me build the portal.” He shook his head. “And look where that altruism got him.”

With that lovely damper on the mood, Ford continued down the stairs.

Mabel took a deep breath and followed him. _It’s okay_ , she told herself. _We’re going to save Stan. Then Ford won’t have any reason to say depressing stuff like that._

At the base of the stairs, Melody greeted them with a warm smile. She was still in her pajamas — a rumpled old t-shirt over gym shorts — but she looked awake and energized. “Have fun, kids?”

“Yeah,” Mabel said. She wanted to say more and talk about how great the first Journal was, but Ford was already talking.

He got straight to the point. “Melody, you do realize we can’t open the Mystery Museum until Stanley is safe, right?”

Melody frowned. “I have thought of that — it would be hard to get in and out of the basement if the gift shop was full of customers.”

“It’s not just that!” Mabel blurted. “Melody, there’s a whole cult here in town, and we have _no idea_ who’s in it. If we open the Museum, Pacifica could send Order members to spy on us and maybe even sabotage the portal!”

“We need to lock this whole place down,” Ford said, “so that no one can get in — or out. Melody, you can either choose to stay with us or go home, but I’m afraid you need to make a choice and stick with it until this is over.”

Melody’s eyes widened in shock. Mabel knew that look — it was the look she often got when she was overwhelmed or needed to make a sudden decision. “I. . . I’ll stay, of course. Someone has to run the house while you fix the portal. But. . . do we have enough food to hole up in the house for who knows how long? We can’t just shut ourselves in without thinking it through. We need necessities. We have heat and running water, but what about food? And what if you need a tool to fix the portal that you don’t have here at the Museum?”

Ford waved a dismissive hand. “We’ll worry about all that later. Right now, let’s make sure we’re safe, and then if we run out of food or if I need something we can decide what to do about it then. I don’t know how long this will take — we could very well need to restock. Or we could get the portal fixed in a few days. I don’t know. I’m going down to the lab to find out, and I suspect Mabel wants to come with me. Could you and Dipper go around and make sure every single door and window is locked?”

Melody looked to Dipper. “You good with that?”

“Waddles and I will take the upstairs,” he replied.

“Wonderful.” Ford let out a breath. “Well, I’d best get down to the basement. After being in disuse for thirty years, who knows what the portal needs?”

He turned and left the room. Mabel hurried after him.

She caught up to him just as the vending machine swung open. “Anything I can do to help, Grunkle Ford?” she asked.

The Author glanced down at her. “I’m not sure,” he admitted as they started down the stairs. “The portal still has life, at least, or it wouldn’t have turned on last night. I started running some diagnostics after you kids went to bed, but I wasn’t able to finish them. That’s the goal for today — figure out what we need to do to get Stan back. I’m afraid that, without mechanical training, you’d likely get in the way.”

Mabel deflated. So she couldn’t do. . . anything? She trudged behind Ford into the elevator.

Ford saw her melancholy reaction and hurried to qualify his statement. “You’re more than welcome to come along, though. The company will be nice.” The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Ford stepped out, flashing Mabel a smile. “That’s what you can do to help, Mabel — keep me company. Sound good?”

“Y-yeah, that sounds great.”

Ford led Mabel to the control station and set the first Journal next to its companions. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get going.”

He looked through the observation window at the portal. “What do we need to do to bring you home, Stan?”


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out that Ford was right: Mabel really couldn’t do anything. Ford was inspecting the machinery, tinkering with various nuts and bolts, checking the programming on a bulbous screen to the side of the control station. Mabel would have no idea what he was doing — she didn’t trust herself to learn, either, not with Stan’s rescue on the line. Maybe it would be fun to learn some mechanics, but now wasn’t the time for that.

So she sat. And waited. Ford didn’t really talk much besides muttering to himself, so Mabel didn’t really feel needed on the company front. She wanted to keep reading the first Journal, but Ford was using all of them. Not all three all the time — he said she was welcome to grab the first one whenever he didn’t need it — but being constantly being interrupted whenever Ford needed it back wasn’t an enjoyable prospect.

She tried to tell herself she didn’t mind. And she didn’t, not conceptually, but it was hard to keep her sanity minute by boring minute.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Grunkle Ford, do you think you could maybe explain to me what you’re doing while you work? I-I don’t think it’d be a good idea to, y’know, hand me a wrench, but maybe talking about it will help you think.” _And help me not go crazy._

Ford extricated himself from the machinery he was under and attempted (unsuccessfully) to brush the grease stains off his shirt. “Sure. Right now, I’m just checking the various pipes and wires under these gauges, making sure nothing’s rusted through.” He put his hands on his hips. “For being abandoned for thirty years, everything is in remarkably good shape. I haven’t found anything that needs replacing yet.”

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Mabel frowned. “I thought gauges were tiny, though.” She made a little circle with her hands to demonstrate.

Ford pointed to circular instruments atop the machine. “We just called the whole contraption a gauge to save time.”

“Oh.” She had been curious, but the real reason she had brought it up was to put off asking her real question. Mabel shrank back a bit, nervous of Ford’s reaction. “So. . . what’s stopping us from turning it back on all the way?”

“Well, we really shouldn’t attempt to turn it on until I finish this evaluation.” Ford sighed. “But that’s not all, I don’t think. I’ve had this nagging feeling. . . it feels like a bad omen to speak it out loud, but that’s nonsense.”

“Not entirely,” Mabel said. “Bill could hear.”

Ford tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You’re right. Though I vaguely remember that he can’t see into my head, what with this metal plate. Otherwise he probably would’ve shown up in my dreams already, trying to discourage me.”

“Or maybe he just wants you to _think_ he can’t.”

“Either way,” Ford said, “we can’t succeed with the portal if we’re not open with each other. We’re locking down the house; that may be all we can do.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “He might show up in the rest of your dreams, though. Be on the lookout.”

Mabel laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “He already shows up in my dreams every night, Grunkle Ford. Just my subconscious versions of him, but I don’t know if I’ll even notice the difference.”

She thought Ford tried to assume a sympathetic expression, but it just looked uncomfortable. “Well. . . keep your guard up.” And he ducked back under the machinery.

Both of them were quiet for a full minute. Whatever Ford was thinking, Mabel could only guess, but she was trying to reconcile his dismissive attitude. She knew he had a hard time with empathy, that he didn’t know how to be comforting, but some part of her still took his behavior as an insult to her personally. It was hard not to. But he was trying, she knew.

“So. . . what was that nagging feeling?” she asked.

“Ah, yes,” Ford said, his voice muffled due to his prone position beneath the metal. “Well, one of the things I’m checking should bring up a question. Why pipes?”

Mabel’s heart sank. “Oh.”

Ford came out far enough to meet her eye. “‘Oh,’ indeed,” he said. “Why pipes? To carry something. Some sort of fuel.”

“Gasoline?” Mabel said hopefully. She didn’t know of any in the Museum, but at least there was some nearby in the town.

“It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” Ford said. “Would that this was as easy to operate as a car! But no, it’s something else. Something unattainable most other places.”

Mabel sighed. She recognized that tone. “And you have no clue what it is, do you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Ford said. “I’m close to remembering, I can feel it — it’s like I’m just about to grab ahold of the knowledge if I just keep reaching for it.”

His tone had an underlying note of frustration. Mabel was surprised it was only underlying — if she couldn’t remember her past, she don’t think she would handle it nearly this well. She rubbed at her arms, looking around the basement, trying to think of a way to help him remember.

Her eyes alighted on the Journals.

“Have you tried using the black light? Maybe one of the Journals has a clue,” she suggested.

“Hmm,” Ford said. “I’ve read through the third Journal with the black light, but not the other ones.” He went fully back under, and his voice came floating out with the sounds of metal hitting metal. “Open them all up to the page on the portal and shine the pen over them, would you? I remember the third Journal having invisible ink on the portal page, so it makes sense that the others would as well.”

Mabel moved to the control station and flipped the Journals open. “Where’s the black light pen?”

The metallic sounds paused briefly. “I think it’s up in my lab.”

Okay, that meant walking, but Mabel didn’t mind. At least it was _something_ to do. “I’ll go grab it,” she said. She took the elevator back up to the main level, jogged back to Ford’s lab, and rooted around for the black light pen for a couple minutes before finding it. As she headed back to the basement, she passed Dipper and Melody. After waving and holding up the pen in explanation, she pushed through the door to the gift shop and rejoined Ford downstairs.

When she got there, Ford was standing at the control station, idly flipping through one of the Journals. He turned around when he saw her. She frowned; her great uncle looked rather disoriented.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He shook his head to clear it. “I’m fine, I just. . . well, I saw something under those gauges that reminded me of something. Trouble is, I don’t know what that something is. I remember Fidds repairing that particular part of the portal one day, and something strange happening as he did it, but. . . that’s it.”

Mabel held up the black light pen. “Will this help, maybe?”

Ford’s eyes lit up. “Ah yes, excellent.” He held out his hand, and Mabel gave him the pen. Clicking it on, he barely gave Mabel time to move so she could see the Journals.

“Woah,” she breathed. The pages were covered small, cramped writing. “That’s a lot.”

“Yes,” Ford said. “I didn’t have space to write notes about the portal — I had already written the next few pages in the third Journal, so it would’ve been off-topic, and the other two were full — so I wrote them here. The third Journal talks about programming the location that the portal opens to, and the other two. . .”

His eyes scanned the pages below. “That’s right. . . the gravitational anomalies.”

One of the Journals had “Fuel” written along the top, which was what they’d been searching for, but the heading of another Journal drew the eye much faster. “Gravitational Anomalies,” it said.

“That’s what happened,” Ford said. He spoke in the far-off tone that he usually did when he was recollecting something. “Fidds was working on the portal when the first anomaly occurred. Gravity gradually lessened before swapping directions. Fidds was under the gauge, so he didn’t have anywhere to go, but Lee and I ended up on the ceiling.”

“Did it hurt?” Mabel asked in alarm.

“No, it was slow. We didn’t go from full gravity pulling down to full gravity pulling up in an instant; in fact, we never got to _full_ gravity pulling up. But it wasn’t just the Museum where it happened — gravity was going crazy all over town.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I’ll bet the Order had a heyday with that one.”

Right, the Order. Mabel almost wished she _wasn’t_ protected from them so that she could permanently forget about them. “Did you know about them back then?”

Ford shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’d ever heard of them until you told me. They don’t jog any memories the way details from my adventuring days usually do.”

Mabel grimaced. Well, even if he hadn’t ever heard of them, they were still responsible for him forgetting about Stanley. Fiddleford had shot him with a memory gun he’d made for the Order. Mabel didn’t understand how Ford could talk so nonchalantly about his assistant — she’d be so mad that she wouldn’t even be able to mention his name.

Ford had returned to reading the Journals, and Mabel did the same with a shake of her head to clear it. She wanted to read the invisible ink on all of them, but her eyes stayed on the Journal with the notes on the gravitational anomalies, reading through the entire page.

 

 _The portal is making gravity go crazy! So far it has only decreased or swapped directions for short periods of time, but I fear the results if it increases or changes direction for very long. What if it starts pulling people up at twice the usual strength and then suddenly changes to pulling people_ down _at twice the usual strength? That would be disastrous! At any rate, I’m staying inside until the portal opens. Wouldn’t do to be_ outside _if or when something like that happens!_

_Notation:_

_1 g: normal gravity_

_.5 g: half of normal gravity_

_0 g: weightlessness_

_-1 g: normal gravity, but pulling up (pray this never happens for more than a few seconds at a time!)_

_I have no idea what to call it when gravity pulls sideways. /1 g? There have been all sorts of directions besides straight down and straight up, from north to west to a slight diagonal downward pull. When that happens, it makes a flat floor into a slope — very annoying!_

“S-so. . . will it happen again?” Mabel asked. “When? Could it happen right now?”

Ford looked up, seemingly surprised at hearing her voice. “Hm? Oh, no, it wouldn’t happen now. I expect it _will_ happen again, but not until we get the fuel and start opening it.”

“ _Start_ opening it?” She’d imagined it would just be all at once — they’d press a button or something, and it would just open.

“Yes. Once we get everything ready, refill the fuel, and instruct it to open, it won’t open right away. I believe it was eighteen hours last time.”

Mabel’s heart sank. Eighteen hours? And that was _after_ they somehow got the fuel. The Order could do so much to hurt them in that time. Heck, _gravity_ could do so much to hurt them in that time.

Speaking of fuel. . . Mabel started to read the final Journal page under the glow of the black light pen.

“Wait — there’s a _UFO_ buried underneath the town?!” she exclaimed.

“Yes. . . and it appears that’s where we got our fuel.” Ford sighed. “Which means we’ll have to go out to get it. Which means exposing ourselves to the Order.”

Mabel thought of suggesting that they go under cover of darkness, but then she remembered Bill. Hard to trick your enemies when they had an ally that could see into everyone’s mind.

. . . Everyone but Ford’s.

“What if—”

She stopped herself. This could be even more dangerous.

“Yes?” Ford asked.

Mabel took a deep breath. “Well. . . if you went by yourself. . . Bill wouldn’t know, right? Especially if you left at a random time without telling any of us when. Although. . . I guess he’d know as soon as we realized you were gone, so. . . and it’d be dangerous for you to go out alone, too. N-never mind.” Why did she always say things like this before she thought them through?

Ford tilted his head. “I could stay down here for a while, make sure none of you see me, and then head out. But you’re right, it’d be dangerous, probably foolish. If you don’t know where I am, how could I possibly get help if I needed it? Especially with the phones down. I highly doubt Melody would let it happen, dream demon or no dream demon.”

“Yeah. . .” Mabel looked down. “It was a dumb idea.”

Ford blinked. “No, I think it was pretty logical. Either way, we’d have to run it by Melody, and she’d probably shoot it down. Well, at least we know what we need for fuel now. I’m going to finish checking everything over, and then we can go upstairs and talk to the others about what we found.”

“O-okay.”

Ford went back under the gauge, leaving Mabel alone with the Journals. She found the first one and started going over what she’d read so far with the black light pen. There wasn’t much — apparently Ford hadn’t started using invisible ink too often until later.

Mabel and Ford stayed down in the basement for the rest of the afternoon and evening, with Ford checking the machines and Mabel reading the first Journal. He still asked for it back occasionally, but not nearly as often as he did earlier. Mabel’s mind kept returning to the gravitational anomalies, though — what would they feel like? Would she be able to handle it well? Would she be safe?

Her anxiety steadily rose throughout the remainder of the day, both about the anomalies and the fuel.

When Ford declared his inspection over and they went back upstairs, they found Dipper and Melody playing cards in the living room. “Oh good, I was just about to come looking for you two,” Melody said. “I put dinner plates for you in the fridge — I hope you came up for some lunch earlier.”

Mabel and Ford shared a guilty look. No, they hadn’t. Mabel hadn’t eaten anything since the toast this morning.

Melody caught the look and sighed. “Go eat. I can tell you have something to tell us, Ford, but I’m sure it can wait, seeing as you didn’t come running upstairs in a panic.”

Ford pursed his lip, but he did as she instructed. Mabel was already halfway to the kitchen. After the two had eaten, they went back out to the living room.

“So, what did you do down there?” Melody asked.

Ford sat on the couch. “Just maintenance checks. Everything is in pretty good shape — a couple things need repairs, but it’s nothing a little duct tape can’t fix, I don’t think. Some cleaning is in order, too, but nothing too drastic.”

Melody nodded slowly. Her eyes scanned Ford’s face. “And?”

He sighed. “And it needs fuel. Fuel from Crash Site Omega.”

“From where now?” asked Dipper.

“It’s a UFO!” Mabel burst out. “There’s a whole UFO under the town, and it has the fuel. We gotta go out and get it.”

Melody looked at Ford in alarm. “Are you sure you don’t have any laying around anywhere?”

“Even if I did, I doubt it would be enough. I can look, but there’s not much hope. I think we’ll have to go retrieve some more.”

“And I’m guessing there’s nowhere else to get this fuel,” Melody said.

“There isn’t,” Ford confirmed. “It’s otherworldly. And the moment we leave, Bill’s going to know and tell the Order. Unless I go by myself.”

“Not an option,” Melody said immediately. She frowned. “Why would going by yourself stop him from knowing?”

Mabel glanced to Ford. Oh, right. They hadn’t told Melody about the metal plate.

To Mabel’s surprise, Ford actually looked embarrassed. “Well. . . I have some sort of metal plate in my head that keeps him out. I had no idea until Pacifica mentioned it offhand last night, but I’ve been starting to remember. . . . After finding out who Bill really was, I needed some way to keep him out. So I went to the nymphs, and they offered to put a metal plate in my head. Said it would stop him from reading my thoughts or communicating with me — if it worked. Well, after a few hours of unconsciousness, I woke up with a metal plate in my head. After that, Bill never contacted me again.”

“So if he went alone, Bill wouldn’t know to send Order members,” Mabel said. “Theoretically — the rest of our thoughts are still open, so he’d probably just find out from our minds instead of Ford’s.”

“Another reason to have company,” Melody said. “We sent Mabel out alone last week, and look how that ended up.”

Mabel shuddered.

“Fine,” Ford said, sounding slightly annoyed. “Who do I take, then? I want you to stay here, Melody, and monitor the portal.”

He glanced to Mabel, and she felt herself swell with pride. The Author of the Journals wanted _her_ along.

But. . .

“Not Mabel,” Melody said. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I know a UFO is exciting, but I can’t bear to put you in danger again. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Rather than the indignation Melody was probably expecting, Mabel felt only relief. She badly wanted to go see the UFO, and she was bummed to miss out — but she also knew it was a bad idea. Her sense of self-preservation warred with her sense of adventure, and Melody was the tie-breaker. Having someone make the decision for her was a lot easier than making it herself and then regretting it.

“Okay,” she said simply.

Both Melody and Ford looked surprised.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t put myself at risk on purpose,” Mabel said. “Not when there are other options.” She looked sideways at Ford. “Could. . . could you still take me to see the UFO, though? A-after all this is over?”

He composed his startled expression into a smile. “Of course.”

“So. . . ,” Dipper said, drawing everyone’s attention, “that leaves me, then.”

“So it does,” Ford said. “Would you like to come?”

Dipper shrugged. “I’d rather it be me than Mabel. Not seeing a UFO,” he hurried to add. “I’ll tell you everything when we get back. But being in danger.”

Mabel smiled, and she had to fight to keep it together. Love for her brother filled her to the point where she could barely speak. “Thanks, Dip,” she whispered.

“I still don’t like it,” Melody said, “but it’s our best option.” She clapped her hands. “Okay, we had a late start this morning. If you want an early start tomorrow, and I’m guessing you do, we’d better get to bed.”

Dipper started gathering up the cards. “Wow, you’re a genius, Melody,” he said with a facetious grin.

Ford rolled his eyes. “All you ever say to me is ‘go to bed,’” he complained.

“If that was true, you’d think you would’ve started listening by now,” Melody replied.

With some grumbling from Ford, Melody managed to shepherd her three charges to their rooms. Ten minutes later, Mabel and Dipper had gotten in pajamas and brushed their teeth, and they lay in their respective beds. “Night, Mabes,” Dipper said before turning off the light.

“Night,” Mabel murmured. She didn’t go to sleep right away, though. Instead, she lay there in the dark, thinking. Her body wasn’t quite tired enough to drop off to sleep, and she had lots of things to think about.

For one, her emotions were still at war over the UFO. Why _shouldn’t_ she go see a UFO?! That had always been her dream! Not her _biggest_ dream, but still! Was she so much of a wuss that she wouldn’t go adventuring just because there _might_ be danger?

But then. . . she was hurt by Pacifica just last night. She didn’t want to be dragged back to her custody again. And she could always go visit the UFO a different time, when there weren’t such high stakes. Plus, Ford had said the gravitational anomalies wouldn’t start yet, but she didn’t want to be outside just in case they. . .

Oh.

Oh!

They forgot to tell Dipper and Melody about the gravitational anomalies!

“Dipper?” Mabel whispered into the darkness.

No response.

He must already be asleep. Well. . . she could always tell him in the morning, she supposed. It could wait until then. It could probably wait until after Ford and Dipper came back with the fuel. Still, she reminded herself to bring it up over and over so she wouldn’t forget. They all needed to be ready.

The thought still terrified her. What would it feel like to be walking and then suddenly float into the air? What if she got stranded in the air because she didn’t have anything to use to push herself? She’d read books set in space before. She’d always thought that the odd gravity was cool, but also scary. And now. . . now she’d be experiencing it herself. Experiencing something even scarier, because gravity could change at any time.

Even though she was warm in her bed, she shivered.

 _Go to sleep, Mabel, they’re not happening yet. You’re okay._ She tried to force herself to sleep, tried not to think about it. The only thing that worked was fantasizing about how cool Stan would be when he returned.

And when she dropped off to sleep, her nightmares were filled with Bill, as usual. But this time, he was torturing her by messing with the gravity.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, Bill Cipher visited Dipper’s dreams.

In the dream, Amanda was over at Dipper’s house, sitting on the couch with him. Dipper was telling some stupid story about a prank he pulled in the third grade, and Amanda was laughing like it was the funniest thing ever. The more she laughed, the more Dipper got into his story, and he jumped up onto the couch cushions to make a hilarious point.

“And my friend Ozzie — he laughed so hard that _milk_ came out of his _nose_!”

Amanda started to laugh, but then she suddenly fell silent.

Dipper frowned. “’Manda?”

She blinked and looked up at him. Her hands were folded primly in her lap.

Dipper deflated. He sat back down on the couch. “Amanda, what’s wrong?”

She tilted her head. “Dipper. . .”

“Yeah?”

“Dipper. . . why didn’t you save me?”

“What?” Dipper asked. “What do you mean? I saved you. I broke the ice. Right?”

Amanda shook her head sadly. “Are you sure? Are you sure you didn’t leave me to freeze?”

“I-I’m sure! Of course I’m sure! Melody and I broke the ice!”

Amanda lifted her head and opened her eyes.

They were yellow.

“Oh, Dipper,” she said, staring at him with Babel-like eyes, “how do you know that wasn’t just a dream?”

In a panic, Dipper vaulted over the back of the couch, nearly twisting his ankle as he landed. “Bill! Get out of my girlfriend!”

“Relax, **Shooting Star** , I’m not real,” Amanda said calmly.

Then she flopped back onto the couch, unconscious. Her body spasmed as a glowing yellow triangle came floating up from her chest.

“ **I** am, though,” Bill said.

“Get out!” Dipper shouted. “Get out of my—”

He stopped, looking around. His house? Wasn’t he at the Mystery Museum? Couldn’t Bill only talk to people in their dreams?

“I’m dreaming,” he realized aloud.

“ **Yep** ,” Bill said. “ **Welcome** to **lucidity**!”

Dipper narrowed his eyes. “Get out of my dreams.”

Bill put his hands up. “Now, **Shooting Star** , that’s no way to talk to a **pal**.”

“You’re right, it’s not. Good thing none of my pals are here.”

Bill put a hand to his. . . heart? Did he have a heart? Dipper highly doubted it.

“I’m **wounded** ,” the demon said. “I came to **warn** you. Isn’t that what **pals do**?”

Dipper’s eyes narrowed further. “Depends on what the warning is. Did you come to warn us about your cult? ‘Cause you’re too late; we already know about that one.”

“ **No**. I came to warn **you** about your **family**. **Sixer** and **Pine Tree** are not being **honest** with you.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Sure they’re not.”

“They’re **not**. They spent all day down in that **basement** and discovered **so** much. The **fuel issue** was only the **tip** of what they **found**.”

“Unless they found Stan, I don’t really care.”

“ **Oh** ,” said Bill, “I think this will **interest** you. When that **portal** turns on, gravity will **stop working**.”

Dipper looked at him warily. “What?”

“ **Gravity**. It’s going to go **crazy**. It’ll change **directions** , it’ll change **strength** , it’ll outright **disappear** sometimes. Your **family** found this in one of the **Journals** , and they **kept** it from you.”

Dipper listened to this, trying to wrap his brain around it. Finally, he shook his head. “Maybe they forgot to mention it, but they wouldn’t just hide information like that on _purpose_.”

“ **Wouldn’t** they?” Bill asked. “Maybe **Mabel** is having so much **fun** with her **uncle** that she doesn’t want to let **you** in on it.”

“Sure, and Melody is secretly a member of the Order,” Dipper said. “We’re not doing all this for fun, Bill, and Mabel wouldn’t be petty enough to keep important things from me just because. . . I don’t even know why you think she would. Trying to turn me against my family isn’t going to work.”

“I don’t think you **understand** what’s at **stake** here,” Bill said. “ **Last** time this portal was opened, changes in **gravity** affected the **entire town**. If you were **outside** and gravity suddenly started pulling **up** , you’d go **flying** into the air. Then it could **switch** back to **normal** on you while you’re **fifty feet high**. You’d **fall** to your **death**. And it could happen to **anyone**! Do you really want to be **responsible** for that?”

Dipper faltered. “I. . . I’ll talk to Ford about it.”

“ **Fordsie**?” Bill asked. “ **He** won’t care! I may not be able to see **directly** into his **mind** anymore, but I can see him though **you**. He’s **obsessed** with getting **Stanley** back. If that means losing a few **townspeople** in the process, it’s no **skin** off **his** nose.”

“You don’t know that,” Dipper said. “He cares about other people, he just pretends not to.”

Bill shook his head. “Your **naïve faith** will get you **burned** someday.”

“Between me and Mabel and Melody, we’ll get him to care. We’ll figure something out.”

“ **Really**?” Bill asked. “What if you have to **choose** between **Stanley’s** life and the **lives** of everyone around you?”

Dipper was done with this. “Then we’ll choose. _Without_ you. Get out.”

Bill stared at him silently for a moment. Then he waved his hand. Dipper’s living room changed to the snowy forest around Gravity Rises. “ **Fine** ,” the demon said. “But before I **go** , I should probably **show** you just what you’re **risking** by turning the portal **back on**.”

Dipper’s feet left the ground as, suddenly, he began to fall upward.

“When you’re **deciding** ,” Bill said, floating up alongside Dipper, “ **think back** to this **dream**. Is the life of a **man** you’ve never even **met** really worth **condemning** people to **this**?”

Dipper continued to fall up. This wasn’t what he imagined flying to be like at all — if he was flying, he’d have control. But he didn’t. He couldn’t stop or slow down or change directions or anything. He was just falling.

The force pushing him upwards slowly disappeared, and Dipper came to a stop, floating high above the forest below. His stomach dropped as he realized what Bill was about to do.

**“Goodbye, Shooting Star.”**

Bill snapped his fingers.

And Dipper fell to the earth.

Down, down, down — the longer he fell, the faster he went, until —

“Ahh!” Dipper bolted upright in bed. For a second he sat there, breathing heavily — even though he hadn’t physically moved, his body still felt the remnants of freefall. It took him a while to reorient himself, to remember where he was, to realize the fall hadn’t been real.

“Mm. . . Dipper?” He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but it seemed that his scream had woken Mabel up. 

“It’s okay, Mabes,” he said. “Just a dream.”

There was quiet for a moment. Then Mabel gave a half-asleep moan. “Was. . . was it Bill?”

How’d she know that? Maybe she was visited by him too. Or maybe she just figured that he’d be around working mischief in their minds. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But I told him off.” He hesitated. Should he ask about the gravitational anomalies? It was the middle of the night, and she sounded tired. She may not even remember this conversation in the morning.

It could wait.

“Go back to sleep, Mabes,” he said.

The sound of rustling blankets reached his ears. “Mm. . . okay. . . if you do too.”

“I will,” he said.

Dipper lay back on his pillow, staring up into the darkness. It took him a while to relax enough to fall back to sleep: his body was still tense from the illusion of falling, and his mind wanted to obsess over what Bill had told him about the gravity changing.

 _No_ , he told himself firmly. _Go to sleep. You won’t get anything done thinking about this right now. You can talk about it with Ford in the morning._

But despite his attempts to avoid it, he still kept thinking about it. He didn’t want any of that to happen in real life, but Bill said that it would. He could very well be lying, but. . . what if he wasn’t? Dipper just kept remembering the feeling of falling. . . .

Finally, he managed to drop back into dreamland. And luckily, Bill did not reappear.

~~~~~

In the morning, Dipper had to fight back the instinct to ask Mabel first thing about what Bill had revealed to him. Then they got down to breakfast, and he didn’t want to ruin the mood of the morning by saying anything. He managed to keep quiet all the way until after breakfast — which wasn’t long, he knew, but it _felt_ long.

As he sat at the table with Melody gathering up the dishes, Dipper’s leg bounced up and down uncontrollably, like it usually did when he had to wait for something. He felt bad putting a damper on the morning, but he couldn’t sit on it this anymore.

“So. . . ,” he began, “Bill showed up in my dreams last night.”

The room seemed to freeze momentarily. Then time resumed, and Melody went back to clearing the table.

“Did he?” Ford said, not sounding surprised in the least. “What did he say?”

“He was trying to turn me against you guys,” Dipper said. “Trying to convince me that you were keeping the gravity stuff from us on purpose.”

Melody paused. “Gravity stuff?”

“O-oh, right, that — I meant to mention it last night, I really did,” Mabel said. “I just forgot until it was too late. Bill told you about it?”

“Yeah,” Dipper said. He noticed Mabel was more comfortable saying Bill’s name now. That was good. “I don’t know how truthful he was being, though.”

“Bill can’t lie,” Ford said. “That doesn’t mean he can’t deceive — far from it. But he can’t directly say anything that is completely untrue.” He frowned. “I. . . don’t remember how I know that. Anyway. He may still have made it seem one way when it’s actually another. Do you remember the exact wording he used?”

Dipper shook his head. “No. How about you just explain it like I’ve never heard anything about it? Melody doesn’t know anything, unless Bill also talked to her last night.”

“Nope,” Melody called from the sink. “What’s this ‘gravity stuff’?”

Mabel opened her mouth to explain, but she thought better of it and deferred to Ford with a glance.

“When we activate the portal, it’ll mess with gravity,” he said bluntly. “It happened last time, so I assume it will happen again. Not until we get the fuel, though.”

Melody frowned in confusion. “Mess with gravity? Like. . . we’ll be floating around as if we were in space, or something?”

“Sometimes,” Ford said. “Gravity pulls down, right? We refer to normal Earth gravity as one gee. But somehow, against all the laws of physics, opening an interdimensional portal changes that. Gravity can increase or decrease at random. Thankfully, it never increased higher than one gee last time, and never decreased lower than. . . negative point-two gees, maybe?”

“ _Negative_?” asked Melody.

Ford nodded. “It changes directions, too. One moment you could be walking across a room, the next you’d find yourself on the wall or the ceiling. We would call upward pulls ‘negative’ and sideways pulls ‘slash’. Slash gees never got very strong, either, but occasionally there would be quick bursts of strong negative or slash gees that would go away as quickly as they came.”

Dipper could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage. “So could someone. . . get hurt?” he asked.

“Theoretically, yes,” Ford admitted. “I don’t remember hearing about any injuries; however, I also stayed inside after the gravitational anomalies started. Something may have happened. I don’t remember any funerals.”

“You don’t remember much of anything,” Dipper pointed out. It came out more accusatory than he’d intended.

He as Mabel put her hand on his arm. He glanced at her; she looked concerned. “What’s wrong, Dip?”

Dipper sighed, slouching down in his chair. “After Bill told me about the anomalies, he demonstrated what they were like.”

“How?” Ford asked.

“I don’t know, by manipulating gravity himself — it was a dream, remember? He could do whatever he wanted. He made me fall up, and then. . .”

Mabel squinted. “I. . . I think I remember you yelling in the middle of the night. Bill did that?”

“Yeah. . . he basically made me fall to my death,” Dipper said. “Hitting the ground woke me up.”

The kitchen was quiet. “I’m sorry, Dip,” Melody said.

“It’s fine, it was just a dream,” Dipper said. “But I don’t want that to happen in real life. To anyone. Is there any way to stop it from happening?”

Ford hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. No way for sure. The anomalies didn’t cause much harm last time, from what I recall, and we have to create them in order to rescue Stanley.”

“Shouldn’t we just. . . warn people?” Melody asked. “The Order wouldn’t like that, but even they would have to admit it’s safer for people to know what’s going to happen.”

“We could,” Ford conceded. “I don’t know how successful that will be, though. And we shouldn’t leave the house, not while the Order is after us.”

“If we’re going to put people at risk to rescue Stanley,” Melody said firmly, “they deserve to know about that risk.”

“Yeah,” Dipper added. Mabel nodded. None of them vocalized the question that now floated through the room: Was rescuing Stanley really worth the risk?

“I agree,” Ford said. “But none of us is safe to go outside right now. It wouldn’t do to get ourselves captured by the Order — then we wouldn’t be able to warn anyone. And I doubt Pacifica would be reasonable enough to let us go for the sake of other people’s safety.”

“But we’re the only ones who know,” Dipper said. “Me and you have to go outside to get the fuel anyways, so we should spread the word.”

“You and I,” Ford corrected automatically. Dipper rolled his eyes. “I suppose we can as a last-ditch option. I’m the only one who knows how to work the portal, though, so I really shouldn’t be exposing myself any more than I have to. Maybe if—”

A knock sounded at the door.

For the second time that morning, everyone froze up. Mabel glanced to Dipper with the light of panic in her eyes.

After a tense, deafening silence, Dipper stood up. His chair scraped on the kitchen floor, making his companions jump. “Well, if nobody else is going to answer it, I will,” he said.

Ford and Mabel both looked at him like he was insane. “What?” Ford demanded. “No! No one is answering that door!”

“Do you really think the Order would knock?” Dipper shot back. “At least let me go see who it is!”

Ford clenched his teeth, thinking this over. “Fine,” he finally said. “ _But_ ,” he added before Dipper got halfway to the door, “don’t you _dare_ open it. No matter who it is, you hear me? I don’t care if Stanley himself is at that door — you don’t open it.”

“Okay, okay,” Dipper said. He left the kitchen, which led to the entry way, and approached the door. His family watched with heightened tension as he got up on his tiptoes to see out the diamond window set into the wood.

His eyes lit up.

“Dipper, don’t open the door!” Ford bellowed. Dipper stopped, blinked, and looked down. He’d been reaching for the knob, not even thinking about Ford’s instructions. He put his hand down by his side — but surely Ford wouldn’t argue against him opening the door once he knew who was behind it.

“Wh-who is it?” Mabel asked. Her hand anxiously gripped the table.

Dipper grinned. “I think we wanna let him in, Ford,” he said.

“It’s Robbie.”


	5. Chapter 5

Robbie Corduroy had hoped that, discovering the Mystery Museum closed off and dark, his parents wouldn’t say anything about going into work.

Yesterday, he had walked over in the morning, only to find the doors shut and the lights off. This meant one of two things — either the Pines had failed and were captives of the Order, or they had succeeded and were sleeping off their adventures. Robbie hoped it was the latter. Either way, the Museum wasn’t open today, and he had the day off from work.

He’d headed back home, plopping back onto his bed. His parents weren’t home; they hadn’t been when he’d woken up. He was used to this — as the town’s only graveyard managers _and_ morticians _and_ funeral directors, they often got called away at odd hours to do various things. Robbie had no idea what those things were, which he personally saw as a great accomplishment. With how much they loved to talk, it took skill to be ignorant of his parents’ lives.

Well. . . . He glanced out the window, the dark corridors of the Order appearing in his mind’s eye. Not completely ignorant.

He stayed in his room all morning, hoping his parents wouldn’t find him here when he was technically supposed to be at work. That didn’t last long, though — soon enough, his dad appeared in the doorway.

Gregory Corduroy said something, but Robbie couldn’t hear it over the rock he was currently blasting into his ears. And he was okay with that.

Dad sighed and mimed taking out the earbuds. Robbie rolled his eyes, but he sat up and followed the unspoken request. “What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Why, so I can spy on the Pines?” Robbie asked. His dad opened his mouth to respond, but Robbie cut him off. “I went over this morning for my shift, but it wasn’t open. So I came back here.”

Dad came over and sat backwards on a desk chair across the room. The chair tilted as he leaned on it. “Not so you can spy,” he said. “So you can earn _money_. Not everything has some ulterior motive.”

“Sure,” Robbie said. “Well, here’s the answer to your question: yes, I’m supposed to be at work, but nothing’s exactly normal right now, so I’m here instead. We good?”

Dad frowned as he thought that over. “What do you mean, nothing’s exactly normal?” he finally said. “I mean, you’re right, but how would you know. . . ?” He trailed off, realization dawning in his eyes. “Did you give them the password, son?”

Robbie lay back down on his bed and rolled onto his side, pulling a pillow over his head. “So what if I did?”

“No wonder you wanted to leave that tour so quickly,” Dad said after a moment of silence. “You didn’t actually want a tour at all, did you?”

Robbie sat up. “Of course not,” he said acerbically. “Who’d want a _tour_ of your and Mom’s freak show?”

Dad closed his eyes and took a long breath. “I know you don’t like the Order, Robbie,” he began.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Robbie muttered.

“But helping the Pines? I’m sure they seem nice, Robs, but you don’t understand the danger they pose! They’re planning to destroy the town!”

 Robbie scoffed. “Yeah, right! Have you ever _met_ the Pines? Mr. Pines is a grumpy old codger, Melody’s a sweet lady who wouldn’t harm a fly, and the twins are these adorable goofballs. Forgive me for not thinking that _they_ could destroy _anything_.”

“That’s a front,” Dad said. He took a deep breath, the sign that he was about to tell a story. “Thirty-six years ago, Stanford Pines came to town to research the paranormal.”

“Then why didn’t you just wipe his memory and send him packing?” Robbie interrupted. “That’s what you do, right?”

“Because he’s like you,” Dad said. “All the Pines are. Which makes them even more dangerous.”

“So I’m dangerous?”

Dad threw up his hands. “Maybe, if you’re going to go around helping the Pines!”

“Maybe the Pines deserve help!” Robbie shot back.

Dad stared at him, and there appeared to be actual fear in his eyes. “No.” He sounded horrified. “No, son, you’re being deceived. I’m. . . I’m sorry, I didn’t think Stanford would. . . I should never have let you work there. . . .”

“No, _you’re_ being deceived!” Robbie shot back. He didn’t actually know who was in charge of the Order, but whoever they were, his parents had fallen for their lies hook, line, and sinker.

Dad rubbed at his eyes, and Robbie could guess what he was thinking. He was probably wishing that Gideon could wipe Robbie, or that Robbie would blindly follow the Order’s ideas, or maybe that Robbie didn’t even exist. Well I’m sorry, Dad, for making your life so hard. I’m sorry I can see how stupid the Order is when you can’t.

Finally, Dad spoke. “As I was _saying_ ,” he said wearily, and Robbie mentally backtracked to the story his dad had begun earlier, “Stanford came to town to study the supernatural. But he was obsessed. He’d put his research over anything. Like right now — he’s working on a project that will have disastrous effects, but he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process. Not even his own family.”

“Mabel told me they were just taking back something you people had stolen,” Robbie said. “That doesn’t sound obsessive at all, it sounds fair.”

“It was a Journal,” Dad said. “A book written by Stanford over three decades ago. There are three total — this was the last one they needed to set their plans in motion. I suppose you could say we stole it. I wasn’t in the Order at the time, so I don’t know the exact circumstances, but I _do_ know that it was for a good reason. Having all three Journals was too dangerous — having even _one_ was too dangerous.”

“Why?” Robbie asked, frustration leaking into his voice. His parents thought that _everything_ was dangerous — that just because you didn’t have experience interacting with supernatural creatures, you shouldn’t interact with them at all.

“Because together, the Journals have instructions for a doomsday device.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Wow, _that’s_ dramatic.”

“Robbie, this is serious!” Dad said. “Now that they have all three, the Pines can turn on this machine that could destroy the town! If we don’t stop them, we could get _hurt_. People could die!”

Robbie gave his dad a flat look, but Greg wasn’t done. “And that’s just the beginning. That’s just during the process of _turning it on_. Once it’s on, there will be an entrance to another world. Right in our town! Who knows what could come out of that?”

“I dunno,” Robbie said. “Maybe an alien who can help us. . . achieve world peace? Cure cancer? The unknown isn’t all _bad_ , Dad.”

Dad shook his head. “The risks are far too great to let the Pines succeed.” He sighed. “I need you to go into work tomorrow, Robbie. See what you can find out. See if you can take one of the Journals — or better yet, all of them.”

Robbie gave a scoff of disbelief. “What happened to ‘not everything has some ulterior motive’?! I’m not _spying_ on them! And I’m sure as heck not _stealing_ from them. Plus, if they’re really working on some _doomsday device_ they’re not going to open the _Mystery Museum_.”

He wished that was enough to put the issue to rest. But despite his crushing logic, Robbie’s parents still made him go. They told him to show up for his shift the next morning, knock on the door if the Museum was closed, and ask what was going on. As innocently as he could.

Now, as he trudged across the street to the Museum under the blinding winter sun, he scowled darkly to himself. “Oh, I won’t be acting innocent,” he muttered. “I’ll be telling them _exactly_ what you said.”

And he would. Because he’d had nearly a full day to think over what his dad had said about the “doomsday device,” and his mind had started to doubt the Pines. Was it possible that they really were planning to destroy the town? The twins would never do something like that, he knew, but the more he thought, the more he realized he didn’t actually know Mr. Pines all that well. Maybe the old man was tricking the twins into helping him. Maybe he wanted to go into another world for scientific purposes, not matter what the cost.

Eventually, Robbie had decided he would just ask, straight up. Get both sides of the story and reconcile them into some semblance of the truth.

At the base of the porch, Robbie took a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he marched up the front steps and knocked firmly on the door.

Silence. For long enough that Robbie was close to just leaving and telling Mom and Dad that they wouldn’t answer. But then he heard footsteps, and Dipper’s face appeared in the diamond-shaped window set into the door. Robbie flashed him a smile.

“ _Dipper, don’t open the door_!”

That was Mr. Pines, yelling from somewhere else in the house. Robbie wasn’t sure how to react to that, though he had to admit he felt a little hurt. Hadn’t he just helped them?

Dipper, evidently, was thinking something similar. “I think we wanna let him in, Ford,” he said, his voice muffled by the door. “It’s Robbie.”

Robbie grinned. Good on you, Dip.

There were faint clunking noises followed by heavy footfalls. Stanford Pines’ grizzled face appeared in the window, scowling at Robbie. Then the elderly man turned away, and Robbie heard him say something, though he couldn’t make out any words.

“What?” Dipper asked incredulously. “Grunkle Ford, it’s _Robbie_!”

Mr. Pines said something else, and after a moment, Robbie heard Dipper run away from the door.

“What do you think, Mabel?” Mr. Pines raised his voice to ask her, so Robbie could hear the question. He couldn’t, however, hear Mabel’s response.

“It’s risky,” Mr. Pines said. “He could be here to sabotage us.”

Robbie sighed. “I can hear you, you know,” he called through the door.

Silence.

“Why are you here?” came Mr. Pines’ response.

Robbie closed his eyes, trying to banish his suspicions. Of course the Pines would be wary. He took a deep breath and said, “I just want answers.”

Dipper’s telltale footsteps returned, and a few moments later, the door opened.

“Come in,” Mr. Pines said. Then he held up a gun for Robbie to see. “But if you try anything, I’ll stun you.”

Robbie swallowed. “Noted.”

He crossed the threshold into the Museum, but even as he did it, he worried. Wasn’t this behavior proof that Mr. Pines was dangerous? Maybe he should turn tail and get out of here.

But he couldn’t trust the story his dad had given him. He needed to hear their side.

Mr. Pines gestured to the couch, and Robbie sat. Dipper came over and jumped up onto the arm of the couch. “Sorry about Ford,” he said. “He’s just paranoid.”

“Dip, this is a big deal.” Mabel came shuffling into the living room from the kitchen. “We have to be safe.” Then her eyes met Robbie’s, and she flushed and looked away.

Robbie smiled at her. He found her shyness rather endearing, to tell the truth. She was a good kid.

Mr. Pines cleared his throat. “I’m going to need to ask you some questions, Robbie, just to be safe. Are you here to steal the Journals?”

“No,” Robbie answered honestly. “My parents want me to, but I only have their word that you’re doing bad things with them. And I don’t exactly trust their judgment.”

There was a sound of consternation from across the room, and Robbie glanced over to see Melody standing in the entry way. “Your parents are intelligent people, Robbie,” she said. “I grew up with them — they graduated high school a couple years before I started, but in a town as small as this one, you pretty much know everybody. I remember looking up to them. They really do care about people. They’ve been deceived, yes, into using their caring nature for bad things — but don’t mistake that for stupidity.”

Robbie had to hold back an eye roll. Thank you, Melody, excuses are just what my parents need.

“Robbie,” Mr. Pines said, “what do you mean, ‘doing bad things with them’? What did they tell you?”

Though he had the urge to look away, Robbie forced himself to look Mr. Pines in the eye. “My dad said you were turning on some sort of ‘doomsday device.’”

Mr. Pines raised an eyebrow. “Alliterative.”

“Yeah, nobody’s going to take it seriously with a name like _that_. But he said it could destroy the town, hurt people, possibly even kill people.”

The Pines went quiet. None of them would meet his gaze. Robbie’s heart sped up. That was _not_ a good sign.

“It could,” Mr. Pines said quietly. “We were hoping to warn people somehow so they can stay safe.”

Robbie stared at him. “Or you could just. . . not turn it on.”

“We have to,” Mabel burst out. “I-it’s dangerous, but—” She cut herself off, glancing to Mr. Pines.

Mr. Pines sighed. “Did your father explain what the device is?”

“Yeah. . . something about an entrance to another world.”

Mr. Pines tilted his head in acknowledgement. “The device is a portal,” he said. “Thirty years ago, we turned it on for the first time, and. . . my brother got stuck on the other side.”

Robbie blinked. A brother? He’d never imagined Mr. Pines having. . . well, any family. At least, before the twins came to visit.

“We have to save him,” Dipper added.

“But — it’s been thirty years!” Robbie exclaimed. “Why are you just doing this _now_?”

Mr. Pines sighed. “Because I forgot about it.”

Robbie looked away. Of course. He should’ve guessed the Order would do something like that. “Oh.” Another thought surfaced in his mind. “My dad. . . said you were obsessed. That you’d put your research over anything, even your own family. But it sounds like. . . it sounds like this whole thing is _for_ your family.”

Mr. Pines nodded solemnly.

“Hey,” Dipper said suddenly, “I have an idea! Why doesn’t Robbie just warn everyone?”

The Pines all looked to Robbie expectantly.

“Um,” he said, “I guess I could. But I don’t even know what exactly I’d be warning them about — and won’t the Order just wipe their memories?”

The entire room seemed to sigh at that.

“If they’re so worried about people getting hurt,” Dipper said, “then they have no excuse to keep people from protecting themselves, right?”

“Theoretically,” said Mr. Pines. “I worry they may not see it that way, though. I’m afraid it’s up to you, Robbie, to convince them not to. Tell your parents they were right, that I am obsessive, and that you couldn’t find a way to stop me. Then beg them to let you warn people, since that’s the only way to keep them safe. If they don’t like that, you could always remind them that they can wipe everybody’s memory afterwards.”

The more Mr. Pines spoke, the less Robbie liked the plan. Tell his parents that they were _right_? _Beg_ them? _Remind_ them of their stupid memory wiping?

Melody, evidently, could read the disgust on his face. “I know,” she said. “Submitting to your parents feels like swallowing fire ants when you’re a teen. Even when they’re not in a cult. But if you want to help out, you have to make them feel like the ones in power, so they’ll do what’s necessary for everyone’s safety. Do you think you can do that?”

Robbie scowled. “Even after I humiliate myself, nobody is going to believe me. The Order has too much of a hold over their minds.”

“That may be,” Mr. Pines said. “You still have to try, though. And once the anomalies start, everyone will experience it firsthand. Then they’ll believe you.”

“Experience what?” Robbie asked.

So the Pines explained the gravitational anomalies. Robbie could see why his dad was worried — with gravity going crazy, all sorts of awful things could happen. And just because Mr. Pines hadn’t experienced any dangerous gravity last time didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen this time. Was the life of one man really worth putting so many people at risk?

“Essentially,” Mr. Pines finished, “people should stay inside as often as possible and secure whatever they can so it won’t fly around. And turn off their electricity — lights, water, heat, everything. Who knows what the disappearance of gravity could do to people’s pipes?” He sighed. “The anomalies will only happen for eighteen hours, but it’ll be a long eighteen hours.”

“When?” Robbie asked.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Pines admitted. “Sometime in the next week. Tomorrow at the earliest. But we’ll try to make it more like a couple days so you have time to get the word out.”

Silence. Maybe the Pines really _were_ obsessive — they were asking a lot of Robbie. Of everyone.

“You know,” Robbie said, “for just getting threatened with a stun gun, I’d be _really_ nice to help you out.”

Mr. Pines sighed. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Could you help us?”

Robbie thought the question over.

“Ford can really be a grump,” Dipper said. “Try thinking of it as helping Stanley — that’s what I do.”

“Stanley?” Robbie looked to Mr. Pines. “Is that your brother?”

He nodded briefly.

Robbie was quiet for a moment. “My parents say I’m being tricked by you,” he said.

“No,” Mabel said immediately. “We wouldn’t lie about family.”

The sealed it: Robbie believed them. If it had been anyone else, it may not have worked, but Mabel was too innocent to deceive him. The sincerity in her eyes as she said it hit Robbie hard. Thinking about it logically, one man’s life wasn’t worth risking so many others. But emotionally, reuniting a family was worth whatever it took.

It kind of made Robbie wish his family was like that.

 _No_ , a voice in the back of his mind insisted. _Your parents love you. Everything they do, even if it’s misguided, is out of love._

The strength of the thought surprised him. But he supposed seeing that love in the Pines helped him see it in his own family, too.

“Okay,” he said, looking around the room to Mr. Pines, Dipper, Mabel, and Melody. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do my best to keep the town safe, and I’ll try to get my parents in on it, too.”

He looked Mr. Pines straight in the eye. “And you get your brother back.”

To his surprise, Mr. Pines gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

After that, Mr. Pines gave him more specific instructions, and fifteen minutes later, Robbie was on the road back to his house to negotiate with his parents. His mind was going over everything he’d just learned, all he’d seen from the Pines. Something about Mr. Pines was different, but Robbie couldn’t put his finger on it.

Hours later, Robbie realized what it was.

Today was the first time he’d ever seen Mr. Pines smile.


	6. Chapter 6

After Robbie left, the mood in the house felt considerably lighter. That was one problem solved. Mabel could only hope Robbie succeeded in warning the town.

The Pines headed down to the basement, with Melody gathering cleaning and repair supplies on the way. She and Ford looked over what needed to be done, and then Melody snapped into efficiency mode. She handed Mabel and Dipper sprays and rags. “Okay, kids, some of this stuff is delicate. Ford and I will get that. And if anything looks busted, call one of us to come look at it. Otherwise, I’ll show you what you can get started on cleaning.”

Most of the cleaning involved clearing the rust that caked the pipes. Fortunately, Melody had a cleaning solution made just for scrubbing away rust. Unfortunately, there was only one bottle, and the twins had to patiently wait when the other had it.

Neither of them was very good at patiently waiting.

As the morning went on, Mabel felt her frustration rising. Why couldn’t she just read the Journals instead of wiping away stubborn bits of rust? She forced herself to keep working — they were doing this for Stanley — but it was monotonous and boring. The only sounds were the hum of the portal and the adults discussing cleaning and repairs.

To Mabel’s relief, Dipper seemed to be feeling the same way. “Hey Ford,” he said after a while, “you’re starting to remember more stuff from your past, right? Can you tell us stories about your adventures with Stanley?”

Ford paused in his inspection of the gauges. “I suppose I could,” he said. “I had a lot more adventures with Fiddleford than I did Stanley. But I remember a few times where all three of us went out.”

“Ooh, tell us about those!” Dipper said.

So for the next few hours, Ford told stories to help pass the time. He wasn’t a very good storyteller, in Mabel’s personal opinion — his voice was flat, and he mentioned unimportant details while forgetting crucial ones. Still, it was better than nothing, and he was telling them about exciting adventures. It made the cleaning easier.

He was in the middle of a story about Lee’s first run-in with a gremloblin when Melody suddenly gasped.

Everybody stopped and looked to her. She was standing in front of some large, vertical glass tubes. “What is it, Melody?” Ford asked.

She whirled on him, her eyes wide. “Three hundred gallons! The indicator on these fuel tanks says the portal needs _three hundred gallons_ of fuel. How on _earth_ are you and Dipper going to _carry_ that?!”

The basement went silent.

“Oh,” Ford said quietly.

“And don’t tell me you can handle it, either,” Melody warned. “That much liquid probably weighs about a ton, and _no one_ can carry that much weight, much less someone your age!”

Ford sat in the chair next to the control station and put a hand to his forehead. The twins watched as he thought, their cleaning assignments totally forgotten.

“We’ve done it before,” he finally said. “Back in the day, Fiddleford and I managed to get all three hundred gallons here.”

“It probably took you multiple trips, then,” Melody said.

Ford shook his head. “No, we got it all at once. I just. . . don’t remember how.”

Mabel and Dipper shared a look. Mabel was tempted to scream, to throw down her rag and spray bottle, to storm out of the basement. They were held up by Ford’s faulty memory _again_! It was good that there was a solution to getting all the fuel in one trip, yes — the more trips they had to take, the bigger the chances of getting stopped by the Order — but if Ford couldn’t remember what that solution _was_ , then it wasn’t really a solution at all!

Initially, her frustration was directed at Ford, and she had to remind herself that it wasn’t his fault. No, it was Fiddleford McGucket’s fault.

Mabel had a strong desire to punch Fiddleford in the face.

Ford sighed. “I’ll think it over. I’m sure I’ll remember eventually. Let’s get back to the portal.”

Melody pursed her lips but did as he suggested, pulling out some duct tape to cover up a crack in the fuel tanks.

They got a lot of cleaning and repairs done that day, but by bedtime, Ford still had no recollection of how they’d managed to transport the fuel. Mabel’s mounting frustration over the lost memories felt unbearable, and she wasn’t even the one missing things from her past. She went to bed irritated that night, and her dreams were filled with a faceless Fiddleford McGucket building the memory gun, then laughing evilly as he fired it straight in Ford’s face.

The next day, after the Pines had eaten breakfast, checked the locks to ensure they were engaged, and gone down to the portal, Ford remembered.

“Of course!” he said suddenly, almost causing Mabel to drop her spray bottle. “I remember now. We knew we couldn’t carry all that on our own — so we recruited supernatural creatures to help us.”

“Which ones?” Mabel asked excitedly. She mentally reviewed the creatures she’d read about in the first and third Journals. “They would’ve had to be strong, right? Was it the yeti? The minotaurs?”

Ford waved his wrench at her in confirmation. “Yes, the minotaurs. At least, that’s my name for them, based on the Minotaur in Greek mythology, who was just a single beast. They told me their true species name once, but the human mouth can’t pronounce it.” He frowned. “They may be hibernating, I’m not sure. We’ll have to go see, and if they’re not, hopefully they remember me well enough to help us again. If they are hibernating. . .” He shrugged. “We’ll have to see if the yeti are as sociable as they.”

“Aren’t yeti dangerous?” Melody asked. “For that matter, aren’t _minotaurs_ dangerous?”

“These minotaurs are a peaceful society,” Ford assured her. “I don’t know the yeti as well as I do they, however. If it is necessary to communicate with them, Dipper and I will be careful.”

Melody didn’t look happy about this, but she didn’t protest. “Okay, fine. You had the minotaurs to help you last time. But _how_ did they help you? What did you use to carry it? You can’t exactly hold liquid in your hands, even if you’re a supernatural creature.”

“We had a sledge,” Ford said. “Last time we did this, it was before the snows set in, so I’m not sure how well it’ll do over the snow. I’m not even sure where it is, to be honest. But it had steel drums strapped to it, as well as good runners and strong harnesses, and it did the job. Dipper and I will have to pull it on the way there, but it’s fairly light when the barrels are empty.”

“I’m good with that,” Dipper piped up. Mabel figured he probably would’ve been forced to help pull the sledge whether or not he was good with it, but she supposed a willing volunteer was better than a grudging slave.

“Then, when we get to Crash Site Omega, we’ll fill them up, and the minotaurs will pull them back on the sledge.”

“Assuming the minotaurs are awake,” Melody reminded him, “and willing to help you.”

“Right,” Ford said.

After lunch, Ford decided to go look for the sledge back in his lab. “Do you want to come with me, Mabel?”

“Sure,” she said. Better than cleaning old machinery, at any rate.

She doubted that finding the sledge would take very long — wasn’t it large enough to be obvious? But she had underestimated just how much clutter Ford had back in that lab of his. It was a big room, and once you got past his computers and work desks, the back third — maybe even half — of the lab was just stuff piled on top of stuff piled on top of even more stuff.

“How the heck did you find all your weapons back here?” Mabel demanded.

“They were all in one place,” Ford said. “I just had to find that place. And now they’re out here” — he gestured to the boxes of weapons sitting atop one of the desks — “so there’s less risk accidentally hurting ourselves.”

Mabel would’ve preferred _no_ risk, but with how much seemingly-random stuff there was back here, there was going to be some risk no matter what. She picked through the paraphernalia and quickly started to wonder if this really _was_ better than cleaning old machinery. Everything was super dusty, and moving anything sent clouds of dust billowing up into the air. Plus, she kept getting distracted by the cool-looking objects she had never seen before. This was not going very fast. Melody should be here instead; she seemed to have some magical ability to find things.

Eventually, they found it. It was covered in stuff, and Ford insisted on carefully removing said stuff rather than just dumping on the ground, but they found it. Mabel wasn’t sure what the big deal was with being careful: they were still putting things in random places on the floor anyway. But she did as her great uncle said, and in about ten minutes, they had an uncovered sledge and a large cloud of dust.

“Ah, wonderful, the barrels are still here,” Ford said.

Mabel sneezed.

Ford dragged the sledge to the door on his left, the one that led outside. He unstrapped the barrels and propped the sledge up against the wall, inspecting the sledge for decay. Mabel didn’t know if she should stay with him or go back downstairs. If she did the latter, she’d for sure be put back to work. She kept reminding herself that all this work was for Stanley, but. . . well, she’d imagined Stan’s rescue would be a lot more exciting than this.

 _It would be if you went out with Ford to get the fuel_ , said a little voice in her head. Mabel sighed inwardly. Right. ‘Exciting’ usually meant ‘dangerous’ in Gravity Rises, and she was currently trying to avoid danger.

Once Ford declared the sledge functional, the two Pines headed back down to the basement. Which meant more cleaning. Yay.

“It’s frustrating how much time that cost us,” Ford said as he worked. “I would have wanted to be out there by now.”

“You told Robbie we’d give him a couple days to spread the word,” Melody reminded him. “It works out.”

Ford gave a grudging nod. “I want to leave first thing tomorrow morning. Okay, Dipper?”

“Rodger that,” Dipper said.

Mabel imagined Bill listening to their conversation and going straight to Pacifica to help her plan an attack. She shivered and looked away.

“Mabes?” Dipper asked.

“Bill heard that,” was all she could manage in response.

There was a pause. Then Mabel heard footsteps and felt a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do about that but be prepared,” Ford said. “We’ll take weapons. We’ll have the minotaurs to back us up. We’ll be fine.”

“We don’t even know if the minotaurs can help us!” Mabel said.

“I didn’t write anything in the Journal about hibernation,” Ford replied. “That would’ve been a detail I would’ve included.”

“Maybe you didn’t know!”

“Maybe.” Ford gently turned Mabel to face him. “We can’t let fear stop us, Mabel. We can make plans, backup plans, contingency plans — and we have. Now the only thing to do is move forward and adapt if there are challenges we didn’t anticipate.”

“But—”

“He’s right, Mabes,” Melody said. “I’m anxious too — I want to just shut this whole thing down and hide under the covers with a nice book. Heavens to Betsy, Ford, I wouldn’t actually do that!” she added as Ford turned on her with an astonished glare. “Honestly, can’t you just calm down? Of course I wouldn’t do that. But there is a part of me that wants to, I’ll admit.” She smiled reassuringly at Mabel. “It’s okay. It’s completely normal to be scared. Maturity is being able to square your shoulders and do scary things anyway.”

Mabel didn’t feel very reassured. “I’m only thirteen,” she whispered.

Melody sighed. “I know,” she said. “I wish you weren’t in this situation.”

“But without you,” Ford said, “I never would have remembered Stan.”

Oh, like _that_ helped. Mabel’s brain automatically filled in other endings to that sentence. _Without you, Pacifica never would have stolen my house. Without you, I never would have gone down to the bunker and accidentally killed Shifty. Without you, the Order would never have made me their number-one target._

“Mabes?” Dipper said again. “It’s okay. Ford and I got this.” He grinned. “The minotaurs got this, too.”

He was obviously excited about meeting the minotaurs, so Mabel stopped herself from pointing out, once again, that the minotaurs might not even be _awake_. She went back to her cleaning, trying to signal that she was done with this conversation. It worked, kind of — Ford, Melody, and Dipper still talked about their plans for tomorrow, but at least they weren’t talking _to_ her anymore.

 She had so much anxiety that she didn’t even know where it was coming from. Oh, she _knew_ — Ford and Dipper’s expedition to go get the fuel, the possibility of an Order attack, the possibility that the portal wouldn’t work, the possibility that Stanley wouldn’t even _be_ there when the portal _did_ work — but it all blurred together into this one massive lump of worry and stress, and she couldn’t trace individual threads of that worry back to their origins.

The rest of the day passed in an uneasy haze, and the night wasn’t much relief. Mabel’s anxiety kept waking her up throughout the night, and when she did sleep, she had fuzzy nightmares that didn’t have events or solid details — just clouds of apprehension and discomfort.

Dipper, unfortunately, woke up talking the next morning. “What do you think the minotaurs are like?” was the first thing he said to her. “I know Ford said they were a peaceful society, but come _on_. Bull men? You can’t be half bull and _not_ want to headbutt anything that moves.” He grinned. “I bet they’re _super_ manly.”

Mabel, who had been lying awake for the past half hour and _trying_ to get back to sleep, rolled over and put her pillow over her head.

“They’re _min_ otaurs, Dipper, not _man_ otaurs,” she muttered.

Somehow he understood her, even though she was mumbling into her sheets. “Well yeah, I know what they’re called. Doesn’t mean they can’t be manly.”

Mabel vaguely wondered what Dipper’s concept of “manly” was, considering there were — as far as she could tell — so many different viewpoints on what masculinity and femininity actually were. That thought died quickly, however, as she once again concerned herself with trying to block out all sound.

Not easy when her noisy twin brother was up and moving.

Finally, when her attempts to fall asleep proved to be utterly futile, she sat up and stretched. Dipper, fully dressed and wearing pale blue tennis shoes with black stripes, turned to her. “Oh good, you’re up!”

Mabel scowled back, too groggy to be cheerful. Her eyes flicked down to his shoes. “Um, Dip? You do realize you’re going to be walking through deep snow all day.”

“Huh?” He followed her gaze to his feet. “I’ll be fine, Mabel. And besides, I gotta wear these — they’re my good luck shoes!”

“You have, like, fifty pairs of good luck shoes,” Mabel said.

Dipper shrugged. “The more luck, the better!” he said. “I’m headed downstairs for breakfast. I think I can smell bacon!”

Mabel didn’t think that was how luck worked. And wearing tennis shoes in snow was bound to bring more _bad_ luck than it did good. As Dipper raced out of the room, she called after him, “Don’t come crying to me when your socks are all soggy!”

She wanted to get out of bed after that, but the quiet that descended over the room after Dipper left was too inviting to pass up. She flopped back onto her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

It took Melody calling up the stairs for breakfast three times before Mabel finally got up. Breakfast was delicious, as usual, but Dipper, Ford, and Melody were discussing the boys’ expedition the whole time, which made the food hard to enjoy. After breakfast, Dipper and Ford went off to prepare supplies while Melody made them food to take with them. Mabel was left to sit there moping.

“Oh, Mabel,” Melody said sympathetically. A moment later, Mabel felt hands on her shoulders as Melody started to rub them gently. “It’s okay,” she said. “They can take care of themselves.” She moved around so Mabel could see her. “Could you help me with these lunches? A little work might do you some good.”

Mabel had spent the last two days cleaning, so she doubted it. But she did as Melody suggested — the housekeeper didn’t deserve to do all the kitchen work all the time.

They were almost finished when Ford appeared in the entry way just outside the kitchen. He was holding armfuls of weapons. “Dipper and I are taking stun guns and knockout patches, and I realized we should leave some with you as well. Just in case.” He came over and put two stun guns on the table, plus a handful of small square packages.

Mabel’s stomach flipped over itself as she saw the weapons. Just in case of what? She and Melody would be safe in the Museum, right?

“We have the sledge ready,” Ford continued. “How’s the food coming?”

“We made lunches, dinners, and snacks,” Melody said. “I worry you may not be back by tonight like you were hoping, though. Should I make more?”

Ford considered this. “Maybe a couple more sandwiches.”

Mabel and Melody did as he suggested, and fifteen minutes later, the Pines all went outside, ready to send Dipper and Ford off. It was the first time that Mabel had been outside — that any of them had been outside — for three days. The fresh air was nice. . . for about two seconds. Then it was freezing, and Mabel wanted to go back inside.

She couldn’t go back inside yet, though. Not until Dipper and Ford had left.

She wished she’d never gotten out of bed this morning. Helping Melody with the food had helped take Mabel’s mind off her fear, but now it all came back. When Dipper came over to give her a hug, she flung her arms around him and held him close.

“I’m scared, Dip,” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied. “But it’s okay. We have weapons, we have each other, and we have big bull men to keep us safe.”

“You _might_ have big bull men,” Mabel muttered.

“Aw, c’mon, Mabes, be a little optimistic.”

 _Be a little realistic_ , her brain countered. She didn’t say it out loud, though.

“Tell me everything about the UFO when you get back,” she said instead.

Dipper stepped back and pulled a camera out of his backpack. “No worries, I’ve got this baby. Between my awesome storytelling skills and the pictures I take, it’ll be like you went there yourself.”

The twins went over to join Ford and Melody, who were talking by the sledge. The barrels had been fastened to the sledge with new straps, and there were camping supplies stuffed into a few of them, though from what Mabel had heard, Ford wasn’t planning on using them. He wanted to be back before the day was over. Mabel wanted them to be back by tonight, too — less time to worry about them.

All too soon, the boys were ready to head out.

They got strapped in to two of the harnesses connected to the sledge. Dipper giggled once he was in his. “I feel like a husky!”

“All right, you two, be safe,” Melody said. She glanced to the younger Pines. “Dip, you keep your uncle in line, okay?”

Dipper saluted. “Yes, ma’am!”

Ford just rolled his eyes.

Mabel ran up for one last hug from Dipper. She had this awful feeling that they would never see each other again. It was probably just paranoia, but. . .

Dipper hugged her tightly back.

When the twins didn’t move apart from each other, Ford cleared his throat. “Come on, Dipper, we’d better go.”

Dipper moved back far enough to smile at her. “I love ya, sis. Take care of Waddles for me, ‘kay?”

“Come back tonight and take care of him yourself,” Mabel replied.

“C’mon, Mabes,” Melody said gently.

Mabel reluctantly let go of her brother and stepped back. Melody put a comforting arm around her as Ford said, “You two keep the portal and the Journals safe, okay?”

Mabel perked up. They weren’t taking any of the Journals? It made sense — it would be terrible if the Order captured them _and_ the Journals — but Mabel hadn’t heard about it until now. Or, maybe she had, but she’d been too consumed with anxiety to process it. “You guys aren’t taking the Journals? What if you get lost?”

“I made copies of a few pages,” Ford said, “specifically ones with directions. We won’t get lost. You have my permission to read through the Journals as much as you want while we’re gone, Mabel, unless Melody gives you something else to do. Okay?”

“O-okay,” she said. That prospect made all this a little better. But only a little.

“Mush!” shouted Dipper, and he started pulling on the sledge. The sudden movement almost knocked Ford off balance. The Author adjusted, grumbling at Dipper that he’d better go at _Ford’s_ pace.

Melody waved them off as they pulled the sledge into the forest. It was slow going — agonizingly slow. Mabel joined in the waving at first, but her arm got tired after a while, and the boys were just reaching the tree line.

She put her arm down and just watched as her brother and her great uncle gradually disappeared into the trees.

“Okay then,” Melody said. Mabel jumped a little — even though Melody’s arm had been around her this entire time, she’d still somehow forgotten the housekeeper was there. “Let’s get back inside.”

“And lock the whole place down again?” Mabel asked as they climbed the porch steps.

Melody sighed. “And lock the whole place down again.”


	7. Chapter 7

This was awesome.

But it would be _more_ awesome if Ford would pick up the pace.

Dipper and Ford trekked through the winter forest, pulling the mostly-empty sledge behind them. It didn’t take too much effort right now, especially with two people. Their harnesses were connected to a cord that fastened underneath the sledge to help them pull it along. Dipper could barely feel the weight! He could go way faster than this!

“Dipper,” Ford said in exasperation, “this is not a race.”

“It kind of is,” Dipper said. “We’re racing to get the fuel before the Order finds us. C’mon, Grunkle Ford, let’s go faster!”

“We need to pace ourselves, Dipper, or we’ll be exhausted by the time we make it to the minotaurs. Or get so tired that we won’t even make it at all. Slow _down_.”

“We’ll be fine! This thing doesn’t even weigh very much.”

Ford sighed. “It doesn’t feel like it does now, but it will later. We need to conserve our energy.”

In Dipper’s experience, conserving energy only led to being super hyper later. But okay, fine. When he was bouncing off the walls later, he’d remind Ford that he asked for it.

They continued at their maddeningly slow pace. At least it wasn’t _entirely_ boring out here — there were fairies flitting around, small creatures like gnomes and jackalopes scampering through the snow, and some larger creatures roaming through the trees in the distance. At one point, Dipper saw a far-off creature that looked like a troll with mushrooms growing out of its shoulders. Ford saw it, too, and stopped momentarily.

“That’s a gremloblin,” he said quietly. “Let’s wait here for a moment and see where it goes.”

Now that he mentioned it, the creature did match the descriptions Ford had given in his stories yesterday. Dipper had to fight to keep still in the wake of the renewed energy that raced through him. This was so _cool_.

The gremloblin didn’t notice them, and it seemed content to continue on its merry way. Dipper and Ford resumed pulling the sledge, and Dipper checked over his shoulder every couple seconds to get a glimpse of the gremloblin.

“You said they show you your worst nightmare if you look into their eyes, right?” he asked Ford.

Ford nodded.

“Woah. That’s crazy. Did you ever look into a gremloblin’s eyes? What did you see?”

Ford coughed. “That’s not something you would generally ask someone, Dipper.”

“Not a stranger, yeah, but we’re family! Family shares things like our deepest darkest fears.”

“Well, I don’t,” Ford replied shortly.

Wow, this guy was pretty good at killing conversations. It did not escape Dipper’s notice that Ford did not actually answer either of his questions. He sighed and kept walking, his eyes roaming the forest for something else to watch.

There weren’t supernatural creatures everywhere, though — they’d go fifteen or twenty minutes with no sight of anything moving. But they still saw enough creatures for Dipper to keep his camera at the ready. He got some decent pictures, too.

“Dipper, perhaps you should keep your stun gun on hand instead of that camera? We might get ambushed at any moment.”

“I don’t see anybody,” Dipper said. “Not one bit of purple.”

Ford sighed. “Just. . . stay alert, all right? The longer we go without seeing an Order member, the more chance there is of running into one. Or two, since they seem to like going around in pairs.” He paused. “It is strange that no one has attacked us yet.”

“Or lucky,” Dipper said.

Ford didn’t respond, but from the look he shot Dipper, the younger Pines could tell he was judging him.

“I’m surprised so many species are still active in the winter,” Ford commented after a few minutes of silence.

“Yeah, the minotaurs are probably awake too!” Dipper said. “That’s pretty awesome. Some would even say it’s _lucky_.”

“The natural habits of supernatural species have nothing to do with luck,” Ford said. “It’s simply a phenomenon of which we may be able to take advantage.”

Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Plus,” Ford said, “an increase in probability is not a certainty. In fact, it’s not even an increase in the probability. The probability is the same no matter what — it’s simply an increase in our _awareness_ of the probability.”

“It’s winter break, Grunkle Ford, I’m not at school.”

Ford was silent for a moment. Dipper had stopped to take a picture, so he couldn’t see the man’s face, but he wasn’t imagining it was pleasant at the moment. He looked back just as Ford opened his mouth to speak. “The entire world is a learning experience, Dipper.”

“The entire world is _school_?”

Ford laughed. It was not a happy laugh. “The world is far worse than school.”

With that cheery declaration, he stopped. Dipper started to protest that _nothing_ was worth than school, but Ford shushed him. He inspected the trees in front of them, then pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and looked between the paper and the trees. “I think this is it,” he said.

Dipper frowned at him. “What?”

“The home of the minotaurs.”

Dipper looked at his uncle like he was crazy. “So. . . where are the minotaurs?”

Ford gestured vaguely in front of them. “They should be just through those trees. Unless they really are hibernating. Let’s see, shall we?”

Dipper was super confused, but Ford didn’t wait for him to figure it out. He started pulling the sledge again, and Dipper instinctively jumped in to help him. Privately, though, he was wondering if Ford’s age had started to get to his brain.

Then the minotaurs flickered into view.

Dipper stopped, his jaw dropping. It took him a few seconds to find his voice — but once he did, words tumbled out alarmingly fast. “ _Woah_! They just appeared out of _nowhere_! How did they do that?!”

He would’ve kept going, but Ford’s hand clamped over his mouth. At first Dipper thought it was an extreme response to annoyance, but then he saw the real reason Ford wanted him to stop talking: The minotaurs were all staring at them.

“Their life spans are only about fifty years,” Ford said in a low voice, “so only the elders, who were children when I was out researching, will remember me.” He raised his voice to address the minotaurs. “Hello.”

There was a period of silence. Dipper wondered why Ford didn’t keep talking, but he supposed he was politely waiting for a response before continuing. A few minotaurs took cautious steps forward.

“Hello,” one said in a deep voice. He had shaggy blond hair and rough, tanned skin. “Have you gotten lost?”

“No,” Ford said. “I came here on purpose.”

There was a palpable silence. “We have not had human visitors for many years,” the blond minotaur said.

“Not since that researcher disappeared,” added a darker minotaur.

Ford looked surprised that he was known among the minotaurs, but he recovered by taking a deep breath. “I am that researcher,” he said.

A hush fell over the crowd.

The blond minotaur blinked. “Are you? I wasn’t around when he was. Come see the elders so they can confirm your identity.”

Ford nodded and started undoing his harness. “Stay with the sledge,” he instructed Dipper.

“What?” Dipper said. “No way! I’m coming with you!”

“The young one may go,” the darker minotaur said. “We will watch your sledge.”

Dipper undid his harness and jumped up next to Ford before he could argue. Ford sighed but didn’t protest. “See?” Dipper said in a loud whisper. “I _told_ you they’d be awake!”

The two Pines followed the blond minotaur through the trees. Now that they were with the minotaurs, Dipper couldn’t believe they hadn’t been visible earlier. They were pretty big! How could he have not seen them?

“Grunkle Ford,” he whispered. “How’d they just appear like that?”

Ford glanced to the blond minotaur, walking just ahead of them. “Some of the supernatural habitats out here are hidden from outside eyes,” he explained in normal tones. “Those inside are completely invisible until you cross the threshold. It helps keep interspecies peace, as far as I can tell.”

“Ah, yes,” the blond minotaur said. “We could see you coming for some time. Some of us wanted to knock you out and take you far away from here, but in the end we decided to wait and see what happened.”

“I am grateful,” Ford said. “We come to ask for assistance. Though my great nephew here was very excited to meet you.”

The blond minotaur looked back at him, and Dipper grinned back nervously.

“We are pretty awesome,” the minotaur said.

Dipper’s grin widened. This was so _cool_!

As they walked, the trees thinned out into a wide clearing, where manmade — or, bull-manmade — structures were visible. There were a few snow-covered houses, but the structures that really drew the eye were wide, cordoned-off circles that appeared to be arenas. Wooden risers hosted crowds of minotaurs, and inside the circles were pairs of minotaurs, each wrestling with his partner.

“Woah!” Dipper said in awe as he saw one minotaur slam his opponent into the ground. “I thought you said they were peaceful, Grunkle Ford!”

The blond minotaur, who was leading them down a path that wound through the arenas, paused to look at Ford. “You said we were peaceful?”

Ford looked embarrassed. “I said that to pacify Melody,” he told Dipper. “I wasn’t being entirely truthful. Well, I was — I just didn’t mention what they do for recreation.”

“I _suppose_ you could call us peaceful,” the minotaur conceded. “Peaceful in that we insist on a fair fight. But we most definitely still have fights.”

“Awesome!” Dipper said. “Can we watch one, Ford?”

The minotaur laughed. “If the elders approve, you could even compete in one!”

Dipper’s eyes widened to be as big as dinner plates, but Ford laughed nervously. “No, thank you. We’re on a bit of a time crunch, I’m afraid.”

“Why don’t I take you to the elders to ask for your assistance, and while you discuss with them, I take the little one to go watch the fights?” the minotaur suggested. “And if he wanted to compete — well, if you are that researcher, you know from experience that we’re fair. We’d put him up against another calf.”

“I don’t want him competing,” Ford said immediately.

“Aw, Ford!” Dipper complained.

Ford silenced him with a warning look before turning back to the minotaur. “But I suppose he could go watch.”

“Yes!” Dipper cheered. “Thanks, Ford!”

Ford held up a finger. “When I come to get you, I want you to join me immediately, all right? Don’t forget, we want to be back home as soon as possible.”

Dipper nodded rapidly. “Okay!”

They continued walking until they reached an arena just off the path. This one, however, did not have a fight going on inside. Instead, a group of elderly minotaurs sat in deep discussion.

“Elders,” the blond minotaur said, his voice booming across the arena, “I bring you a human who claims to be the researcher that disappeared thirty years ago.”

The elders stopped and looked up. Some of them had faded brown hair with streaks of grey. Others had turned completely white with age. All of their hair was long, flowing down their backs from their bull heads in waves.

“Stanford Pines?” one said. He had the whitest hair of all of them.

Ford nodded. “I’m sorry to have disappeared so suddenly. I forgot myself.”

The elders nodded in understanding. “The Order, we presume?” one with salt-and-pepper hair asked. He didn’t sound angry, just weary.

“Yes,” Ford said. “Luckily, I recently have been able to regain a good portion of my memory. I came to humbly ask for your assistance. Thirty years ago, I did the same, and your fathers helped my assistant and me gather fuel from the downed spaceship. I would like to request that you do so again.”

The elders turned to talk amongst themselves, and the blond minotaur signaled to Dipper. He tilted his head back to the path.

Dipper grinned. Thank goodness! He could just tell that Ford would be talking to the elders for a while, and if Dipper had to stand there and listen to all this fancy talk, he may very well implode. He quietly snuck away with the blond minotaur.

“Thanks,” he said when they were back on the path. The minotaur headed for the nearest fighting arena, and Dipper followed. “This is gonna be so awesome!”

“It is,” his minotaur friend agreed. Anyone who saved Dipper from boredom was his friend. “And we’re in luck — the round hasn’t started yet!”

The minotaur led Dipper into the stadium. It wasn’t much — just the risers jutting out of the snow, forming the circle for the arena, with a gap in one area serving as an entrance. Dipper and his friend walked around the edge of the circle until they were facing the entrance, then climbed up to the top of the risers. The stands weren’t crowded the way football stands would be, but there was still a fair amount of minotaurs sitting and waiting for the next match. Dipper looked around at them all with wide eyes — and got a couple stares in return.

He sat down next to his minotaur friend. From the top of the risers, he could see out across the clearing, including the nearby arena where the elders spoke with Ford. He couldn’t make out any faces, but he could see the figures — and he could easily tell which one was Ford, since it was smaller and less hairy than all the others.

“It’s starting!” said the minotaur excitedly. “Here they come!”

A couple minotaurs banged on some drums across the stadium. A cheer went up as two minotaurs, wearing nothing but loincloths, burst into the arena with arms raised, encouraging their fans.

“You and Stanford came at a good time,” the minotaur said. “These two are awesome to watch. That’s Terrortaur.” He pointed to one of the competitors, a black-haired minotaur with deep brown skin. Then he pointed to the other minotaur, whose ginger hair shone red in the winter sun. “And his opponent is Man o’ Meat.”

“Woah!” Dipper exclaimed. “Minotaur names are _awesome_!”

His friend laughed. “Oh, those aren’t their real names! Just their stage names. I’m not sure what their real names are.” He paused. “Mine is Andrew, by the way.”

“Dipper,” he replied.

Andrew didn’t hold his hand out to shake or anything formal like that. Instead, he just turned back to watch the fight. It made Dipper like him even more.

Terrortaur and Man o’ Meat circled each other, calling out insults and boasting of their strength. They kicked up an impressive amount of snow with each step.

Suddenly, one of the drummers banged hard on his drum and yelled, “ _Fight_!”

And with that, the fight began.

The competitors rushed at each other, impressively fast for their large size. They were strong, too. As Dipper watched the fight with wide eyes, the two minotaurs wrestled in the snow, flipping each other over and twisting out of the other’s grasp. At one point, Man o’ Meat had Terrortaur in a chokehold that looked lethal. But after a few moments, Terrortaur grabbed the arm around his neck and pushed down on it so hard that Man o’ Meat lost his balance and flipped over his opponent’s head. The ginger minotaur landed with a bone-jarring crash in the snow.

Dipper watched with bated breath, cheering with the crowd and bouncing up and down in his seat. The competitors seemed pretty evenly matched, and they fought for a long time, much to the delight of the audience.

The fight had lasted about fifteen minutes when Andrew nudged Dipper. “I think they’re finishing up over there.”

Dipper followed his gaze to the distant elders. The figures were moving, and it looked like Ford was walking this way.

A huge cheer from the crowd brought Dipper’s attention back to the fight. Man o’ Meat was thrashing under Terrortaur, who had him pinned to the ground. Both of them were covered in snow, but neither reacted to the cold.

The drummer across the arena had his hands in the air, and Dipper could see him putting up fingers to count the seconds that Man o’ Meat was down. With a growl, the ginger minotaur made a final effort to shove Terrortaur off him. It failed.

The drummer put all ten fingers in the air.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Dipper loved the way minotaurs cheered — they roared their approval, thumping their chests and sometimes putting their neighbor in a friendly headlock. Dipper and Andrew joined them, though luckily Andrew did not roughhouse with Dipper — he wasn’t sure he’d survive that.

As Terrortaur helped Man o’ Meat to his feet for a handshake that quickly turned into a man hug, Dipper had two thoughts: that this was one of the best things he had ever seen, and that Mabel would not have appreciated it. He was glad he hadn’t missed this.

“Let’s go meet Stanford,” Andrew said, getting to his feet. The other minotaurs were already swarming down from the stands to congratulate Terrortaur or thump Man o’ Meat on the back. Dipper wanted to go meet them, but he knew Ford would not appreciate any delays. He followed Andrew out of the arena and toward his great uncle.

“Enjoy yourself?” Ford asked when they reached each other.

“Yes! It was awesome! These two guys named Terrortaur and Man o’ Meat were fighting each other, but they were both so strong that it went on for super long, and they were _so cool_ , and—”

“Good, I’m glad you liked it,” Ford interrupted. “The elders agreed to send out a team of ten minotaurs to pull our sledge once we fill it,” he said to Andrew. “They wanted you to be one of them, as well as find nine other volunteers.”

“Will do,” said Andrew. “Hey, Dipper, do you want to come ask Terrortaur and Man o’ Meat if they’ll pull the sledge?”

“Yeah!” Just after he said it, though, Dipper frowned. “But won’t they be tired?”

“When are we heading out?” Andrew asked Ford.

“As soon as possible.”

Andrew shrugged. “Okay, so maybe not those two. Let’s go back to the sledge and ask the people over there, see what we can round up.”

Dipper, Ford, and Andrew left the arenas behind and re-entered the trees, making their way back to the sledge. Once there, Andrew explained the situation to whoever he could find nearby as Dipper and Ford ate lunch by the sledge. Dipper hadn’t even realized how hungry he was. He’d been too busy cheering during the fight.

It was another half hour before a full group of minotaurs was ready to head out. Ford commented on how remarkably fast that was, but it didn’t _feel_ fast to Dipper. It felt like it took forever. Still, he had the fight he had just seen to run through in his head over and over while he waited.

“Are we gonna pull the sledge again?” Dipper asked Ford as the minotaurs gathered around.

Ford shook his head. “We’d probably get in the way. Or get trampled. Either way, they agree that we should just walk nearby.”

When the team of minotaurs was all there, Ford raised his voice to address them. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “We’re going to pull this sledge to Crash Site Omega — the UFO — where we’ll take the barrels down into the UFO, fill them with fuel from the ship’s reserves, and drag them back on the sledge.”

“Drag them where?” a minotaur asked.

“The Mystery Museum,” Ford said. “It’s on the edge of town, and there’s a back way so that no one will see you.”

Andrew sighed. “Wouldn’t want the Order to go crazy trying to mind-wipe people.”

“No,” Ford agreed. “Which reminds me. . . the Order doesn’t want us to get this fuel. I can almost guarantee they’ll try to stop us. If necessary, are you prepared to defend the sledge?”

The minotaurs talked amongst themselves for a moment, then deferred to Andrew. “Will this mission help fight against Bill Cipher?” he asked.

Ford thought about that. “Yes,” he finally said.

Dipper frowned. Would it? They weren’t fighting against Bill, they were just rescuing Stanley against Bill’s wishes. Why Bill was against that, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t thought about this mission as doing anything to fight Bill — at least, not on the offensive.

“How?” a minotaur asked.

“We’re getting the fuel for a rescue mission,” Ford explained. “My brother, who I believe is on the Cipher Wheel, is trapped on the other side of an interdimensional portal. We’re turning that portal back on to get him back. Once he’s returned, we’ll have half the members of Wheel.”

This sent another buzz through the crowd of minotaurs. Dipper blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. Were they trying to find all the members of the Cipher Wheel?

“We don’t like to fight members of a different species,” Andrew said, “especially if they’re innocent. But Bill’s power is starting to worry us, and the members of his cult are his method of interacting with the world. They’re not innocent. We will defend you and your sledge.”

A bit of relief shone through the wrinkles on Ford’s face. “Thank you. I discussed this with the elders as well — they agreed to assist us if we would continue gathering the members of the Cipher Wheel.”

“Are you on the Wheel?” asked Andrew.

Ford nodded and gestured to Dipper. “We both are.”

Andrew looked to Dipper with an expression of respect that made Dipper feel rather uncomfortable. He didn’t do anything cool, he just happened to be a part of a prophecy that he didn’t even understand.

“It’s good that you’re willing to fulfill the prophecy, then,” said Andrew. To the entire group, he said, “Let’s head out.” He strapped on one of the harnesses, and he seemed to be content to be the sole person pulling the sledge for now.

As the Pines and the minotaurs started for Crash Site Omega, Dipper felt his discomfort fading, replaced by a mixture of dread and excitement. Dread for the possibility of fighting the Order — but excitement too, because the minotaurs would help fend them off. Dipper had seen what they could do.

So his excitement quickly overtook his dread, and he walked happily alongside Andrew, Ford, and the other minotaurs. This would all work out.

The minotaurs would have their backs.


	8. Chapter 8

Mabel and Melody spent the morning in the basement, doing — wait for it — more cleaning and maintenance. Mabel wasn’t sure if it was even possible to clean this entire thing. Then again, she could see a definite difference between the parts they’d cleaned and the parts that were still caked in rust, so at least she could tell she was accomplishing _something._

Melody seemed content to work in silence, which was honestly relieving. Mabel had no idea what to say. Sometimes Melody would make a comment about whatever she was working on, but otherwise the two didn’t carry on a conversation.

With a sigh, Melody leaned back to observe her handiwork. She’d been scrubbing the rust off one of the gauges, and she cleaned an entire machine in the time it took Mabel to wipe down one section of a pipe. “Okay, it looks like that’s as good as it’s going to get. Let’s go grab some lunch, shall we?”

Oh, good. Mabel had been getting hungry. But she hadn’t wanted to say anything; that would’ve sounded like complaining.

She followed Melody into the elevator, and it rumbled upwards. Melody put an arm around Mabel. “We’re doing good work, Mabes. I know it’s boring, but it’ll make Stanley’s rescue possible.”

“Will the portal be ready to open?” Mabel asked. “O-once the boys get back with the fuel?”

“I think so,” Melody said. “Especially if we can get more done today.”

They made it up to the kitchen, where Melody started pulling out the sandwich ingredients for the second time that day. Mabel sat at the table, her chin in her hands, thinking. Throughout the day, she’d been imagining Dipper and Ford’s mission — both good things and bad. She’d imagined Dipper running happily through a forest full of supernatural creatures, throwing snowballs at the minotaurs, talking and laughing with Ford. Those thoughts made her happy. But she also imagined the Order leaping out of the trees and taking them captive, the minotaurs imprisoning them — even the fairies attacking Dipper again.

There was a quiet _thunk_ as Melody put a plate down in front of Mabel. “Watcha thinkin’ about?” she asked.

Mabel took a bite of her ham-and-cheese sandwich, partly out of hunger and partly to stall for time. She swallowed and said, “Dipper. I just. . . I hope he’s safe.”

“Me too,” Melody said.

A comfortable quiet fell on them as they ate their lunch. Mabel ate quickly at first, but then slowed down to savor the meal — and to, once again, stall. She knew the work was helping get Stan back, but. . . well, she didn’t want to do it. So she passive-aggressively took longer than necessary to eat.

When Melody stood up to rinse her plate, Mabel still had a good portion of her sandwich left. It was nice being up here, where she could look out the window and see the pine trees and the sunlight sparkling on the snow. Down in the basement, the only things to see were metal and rust.

Finally, Mabel couldn’t stall any longer, and she finished her sandwich and took her plate to the sink. “Okay,” she said with a sigh, “let’s get back to the portal.”

“Well, it sounds awful when you put it like that!” Melody said. But she had a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s almost like work isn’t the most fun thing in the world.”

“Who would’ve guessed?” Mabel replied with equal sarcasm.

Melody chuckled, and the two headed out of the kitchen toward the Employees Only door. “I don’t really like it down there either,” Melody confessed. “So dark and dreary. But it’s where—”

A loud _smash!_ rang through the house.

Mabel screamed in surprise. Both she and Melody froze, staring at each other. The sound had come through the Employees Only door. “The Order,” Melody whispered in horror.

Then she snapped back into efficiency mode. “Mabel, go get the stun guns. They’re on the counter. I’ll go hold them off.” Melody shoved open the Employees Only door and ran into the gift shop.

Mabel raced back to the kitchen, her mind freezing up with panic. She tried to force herself to snap out of it. _Don’t freeze don’t freeze don’t freeze keep moving don’t freeze Melody needs you Ford needs you_ Stan _needs you—_

She ripped the stun guns from the table and was halfway through the entryway when she realized she’d forgotten the knockout patches. The gift shop was small enough that shooting them would probably cause lasting damage. She hurried back to the table, pocketed the knockout patches, and dashed out of the kitchen.

She ran into the gift shop just as Melody clubbed an Order member over the head with a bigfoot bobblehead. “Melody!” she called. The housekeeper turned, and Mabel lobbed a stun gun to her, hoping she would catch it.

She did.

Melody shot the nearest Order member point-blank. He cried out as he fell, and Mabel winced. Would he be okay?

 _Can’t think about that right now._ There were four other Order members, still awake and swarming the gift shop. Each of them held a net stretched out in their arms.

Mabel fired off a couple shots, but Melody was standing between her and the window, and she didn’t want to accidentally hit her. Melody kept firing, but her shots were slow. An Order member reached her and shoved her to the ground, throwing his net over her. Then he moved to the vending machine and typed in the code.

The vending machine swung open. The man started to move down the stairs.

Mabel shot him, and he fell against the wall, sliding down a couple steps before coming to a stop.

As Mabel knocked out the Order member by the vending machine, Melody finished off the last Order member by shooting through the net. With all five of their attackers unconscious, the girls let out a breath of relief.

Melody threw the net off of her and hurried to the window, looking out of it as best she could without cutting herself on the broken glass. Mabel was suddenly glad they were both wearing shoes. Melody fired off a few shots out the window, and Mabel heard the _thump_ s as approaching Order members hit the outside wall of the Mystery Museum.

“I think that’s all of them,” Melody said. Her voice was shaking badly.

She set the stun gun on the checkout counter and hurried to the nearest Order member, putting her fingers on the woman’s neck and bending down over her. Mabel watched in confusion for a moment before she realized — Melody was checking for life.

A suffocating silence filled the room as Melody checked the vitals of every Order member that lay unconscious in the gift shop, including the man Mabel had shot down the stairs. Finally, she leaned back from the final cultist. “They’re all alive,” she said.

Then she sat on the floor and leaned against the checkout counter, trembling.

Mabel was shaking too. She — she’d never — she’d expected the Order to attack the boys on their mission — but she’d never thought they’d attack here, too. She wanted to go sit by Melody, but she would’ve had to step over bodies, and she didn’t have the energy. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and trying to calm her breathing.

A thread of thought had sprung up in her mind as soon as the Order member had opened the vending machine, but she hadn’t had the time to focus on it. Now, as her gaze fell on the open door, her mind grabbed the thread and brought it to her conscious mind.

She stared at the vending machine in horror.

“M-Melody—” she stammered. The caretaker raised weary eyes to her, and she turned panicked ones back. “They opened the vending machine.”

It took a few moments for Melody to understand that. Then her eyes widened too. “Oh, no,” she said.

“They kn-know the passcode,” Mabel said.

“How?” Melody asked.

“I. . . I don’t. . .” No. Wait. She knew.

“Bill,” she said. “He can read our thoughts. As soon as Ford told us the passcode, he knew. He. . . he can’t read Ford’s mind, though. I think.” She paused. “If we go back down now. . . the Order could send more people to ambush us down there.”

Melody rubbed her face with her hands. “So we’re stuck up here?”

“I-I think so,” Mabel said. “When Ford gets back, he’s gotta change the passcode and not tell any of us what it is. Th-that way, the Order won’t know it.” Unless they were wrong, and Bill could still read his mind through that metal plate.

Melody stood up, carefully moved around the bodies, and stepped into the room behind the vending machine. Mabel watched as she dragged the man on the stairs up to the gift shop and out of the way. Then she closed the door and leaned against the vending machine, staring out across the room full of unconscious cultists.

“I thought. . . if I’d killed any of them. . .” Her voice trailed off. Mabel could see the haunted look in her eyes.

Mabel understood. These were bad people, but. . . they were still people. The thought of taking another human life was too horrifying to consider. Ford had said the stun guns got more dangerous the closer your target was, and the cult members were pretty close to Melody. . . but it was okay. They were alive. The stun gun had burned a whole through some of their robes, but they were alive. Melody didn’t kill anyone.

“Y-you didn’t,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “They’re still alive.” She’d never imagined _she_ would be comforting _Melody_ , but. . . well, they both needed comfort right now.

Melody nodded. “Right. They are.” The haunted look in her eyes turned helpless. “Wh-what are we going to do with them?”

Mabel had no idea. She didn’t know how long they’d stay unconscious, either. She just shook her head.

Melody’s eyes widened. “The ones outside. We can’t leave them there — they’ll freeze.” She moved to the Employees Only door. “Come grab a coat and help me carry them.”

The two of them carried two more unconscious cultists into the gift shop. Then Melody went back to Ford’s lab, returning with some rope and duct tape, and they tied the Order members’ hands and ankles together before securing their own nets over them. Mabel could only do one cultist before she felt too sick to keep going, so Melody had to do the rest. Mabel knew they were defending themselves, but. . . wasn’t taking people captive something the Order did? Something the Pines should avoid?

Once all the Order members were tied up, Melody used more duct tape to cover the hole in the window. Neither she nor Mabel had stopped shaking.

“S-so what now?” Mabel asked. She wanted to read one of the Journals to calm down, but she was terrified that bringing them upstairs would put them at risk.

Melody sighed, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. Everything we need to do is in the basement. But if we can’t go downstairs. . .” She sighed again. “We’re going to have to do something when these guys wake up. Whether that’s shoot them again or interrogate them, I don’t know.”

“S-so we should probably stay in here,” Mabel said. “Can I go grab my sketchbook?”

Melody nodded, so Mabel ran up to go get it. When she got back, Melody was moving the Order members out of the walkway and checking them over for injury. She sat back on her heels. “My instincts are to treat them,” she said, not looking at Mabel. “Should I?”

Mabel shrugged. She didn’t know. If these Order members had been successful, they definitely wouldn’t be treating Mabel or Melody for any injuries. But treating them wouldn’t give the cultists any opportunity to escape, and it was the kind thing to do.

Melody apparently came to the same conclusion, because she stood up. “Stay here and watch them,” she instructed before heading back into the house.

Mabel tried to watch them, but seeing seven unconscious adults all lined up on the ground was all sorts of unnerving. She couldn’t handle it for long before she needed to look away. She opened her sketchbook, and the idea to sketch them appeared in her head — if she was sketching them, she’d need to look at them, right? That’d be watching them. But she didn’t want that in her sketchbook. She turned so that they were in her periphery, not directly in front of her, and started sketching Dipper instead. She wanted to add a minotaur into the picture, but she didn’t have a reference, so she just stuck with Dipper for now. Maybe she’d add the minotaur later, once they got here.

Once they got here. . .

Would they get here? Would the minotaurs help them? She took a little consolation in the fact that she and Melody were attacked. Maybe that would mean the boys wouldn’t be.

Her paranoia quickly dashed that hope. No. There were more than seven Order members. If Pacifica sent a group out after Mabel and Melody, she almost certainly sent another one after Dipper and Ford. The question wasn’t _if_ , it was _when_.

Mabel sighed deeply and stared down at her half-finished sketch. There on the floor of the gift shop, she sent her twin a mental plea.

_Please be safe, Dipper._


	9. Chapter 9

The sun shone merrily down on the adventurers as they trekked through the snowy forest. Too merrily, in Ford’s opinion.

Dipper weaved between the minotaurs, chatting up a storm. Goodness, did this child ever stop _moving_? Ford caught occasional snippets of what he was saying, too, and it sounded like he was talking about anything and everything. How great the forest was, how excited he was to see the UFO, how important it was for him to get pictures and remember _everything_ so he could tell Mabel. “Oh! Right! Pictures!” He scurried over to Ford and begged him to take a picture of him and Andrew.

“Andrew?” Ford asked.

Dipper pointed to the minotaur pulling the sledge. “Yeah! Please?”

Ford sighed. “Dipper, we’re kind of in a hurry here.”

“Oh, come on,” Dipper said. “It won’t take that long!”

Ford looked to the minotaur, this Andrew, helplessly. Andrew just shrugged.

So Ford took the picture, though not without some eye rolling. Dipper and Andrew got into position and stopped walking long enough for Ford to snap the photograph. Then they got moving again. “See, Grunkle Ford?” Dipper said. “No time at all!”

“’No time at all’ would be instantaneous, and that was not,” Ford replied. Dipper gave him an unimpressed look that Ford found shockingly reminiscent of Lee before scampering off to talk to Andrew and the other minotaurs again.

Ford didn’t join in any of the conversations. Back in the day, he would’ve jumped at the chance to talk to any supernatural creature, including minotaurs, but now. . . well, he just couldn’t find it in him anymore. He was still interested, of course, but throwing yourself into a life-or-death rescue attempt had a funny way of rearranging your priorities. Ford hardly even thought of researching the minotaurs when he could barely breathe with anxiety over this expedition.

Not to mention the anxiety that Lee might be long dead.

Ford shook the thought from his mind. He kept his stun gun at the ready, expecting the Order to pop out from behind a tree at any moment. The longer they went with no sign of the Order, the more restless Ford got. Did it really take them this long to get organized? Or were they waiting at Crash Site Omega to ambush them? He supposed the Order rarely tried to capture people who could fight back, but if Bill really wanted to stop them from opening the portal, wouldn’t he have sent Order members to the Museum a long time ago?

The anxiety tripled when they reached Crash Site Omega, only to find the surrounding area completely deserted. “Well, this is great, then!” Dipper said. “Right? We can get the fuel as fast as possible and just get out of here!”

Ford shook his head mutely. They were on their way, he just knew it. Maybe it was a stroke of good fortune that the Pines beat them to the UFO. He thought perhaps the Order was already inside the UFO, but a glance over the surrounding snow showed that it was undisturbed.

Well, whatever happened, they had to get the fuel and get out. Dipper was right about that.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s head inside. The sledge won’t fit, so we’ll have to leave someone out here to guard it. Two people, preferably. The rest of you, take a barrel and let’s go. The entrance is at the top of that hill.” He paused. “Please.”

Dipper grinned at him, which made Ford feel more happy with himself than he would’ve liked to admit. The boy had that effect — he made everyone around him  _want_ to be nicer. Even someone as businesslike as Ford.

Andrew took over from there, choosing the two minotaurs who would stay outside and throwing a barrel over his shoulder. There were eight drums total, which worked out perfectly with Ford’s instructions. Each was thick metal and carried up to fifty-five gallons of liquid; Ford felt a little pang of jealousy as he saw how easily the minotaurs carried them. And if his memory served him correctly, they’d still be able to lift them even after filling them with fuel.

He was grateful for their assistance, though, despite the jealousy. Now to see if they could be out of here before the Order arrived.

The group moved out of the trees toward the UFO entrance. The UFO was buried beneath the ground, and rocky ridges had formed around it. No trees had grown atop the downed spaceship. Ford led the way to the top of the hill with Dipper and the minotaurs behind him. Eight minotaurs carried the barrels, one pulled the near-empty sledge as easily as a child pulling its stuffed toy, and the remaining bull-man walked alongside.

At the base of the hill, Andrew stopped. “Anyone else smell that?”

The other minotaurs paused, their eyes unfocused as they smelled the air. They nodded.

“What is it?” Ford asked, though he had a good idea.

“Humans,” Andrew replied. “And a lot of them. Moving this way.”

Ford nodded. “The Order. Let’s move.”

“Wait, Grunkle Ford,” Dipper said. “We should give the minotaurs some knockout patches. We brought a lot of them, right?”

Ford paused. He hadn’t thought of that. But minotaurs using knockout patches instead of fists when possible would certainly decrease the injury inflicted. “Good idea.” He did some mental tallying, his eyes travelling up and to the side. Then he refocused. “Okay. Dipper, help me hand them out. Five each, if I did my math right.”

Nobody argued that Ford hadn’t done his math right.

Dipper helped pass out the knockout patches, and Ford gave instruction on how to use them. “These are just to get them out of the way,” he added. “Use the knockout patches whenever possible, but if necessary, don’t hesitate to employ physical force.”

The minotaurs nodded.

Ford went over to the two minotaurs who were assigned to stay by the sledge. “You are our first line of defense,” he said to them. “We’re relying on you to stop as many of the Order members as possible. In fact. . . we have two guns that shoot bursts of energy to cause unconsciousness. How about we leave one with you?”

The minotaurs glanced at each other. “No,” one said. “We don’t do well with ranged weapons.”

The other grinned. “Yeah, we’ll be just fine with our fists. And these knockout patches, of course.”

Ford shrugged. He’d feel better having two stun guns in the UFO anyway. He doubted these two minotaurs would be able to stop all of their attackers, though Ford was sure they’d do a great deal to help.

Bidding the two minotaurs goodbye and good luck, Ford led the other eight — plus Dipper — up the hill.

“Woah,” Dipper said when they crested the top of the domed mound of earth, “you can see pretty far from here.”

Ford didn’t the time to look, but he nodded, remembering the view. “Yes. And the UFO is right beneath our feet.”

He went to a lone rock sitting at the top of the hill and bent down to push it out of the way. It was painfully slow — his strength wasn’t what it used to be. Eventually, one of the minotaurs put down his barrel and helped move the stone. Ford’s ears burned in shame, but he didn’t argue. Getting that fuel quickly was more important than his ego.

With the stone out of the way, they could see into the entrance. A long shaft of metal yawned beneath them, swallowing up the sunlight as it descended into the earth. A metal ladder was bolted to the sides of the shaft.

“We’re supposed to take the barrels down that ladder?” Andrew asked. “And then back up after they’re full?”

Ford pursed his lips. “Could you? I believe that’s what our companions did last time.”

The minotaurs shared glances. “I believe we can,” Andrew said, “though we’d have to be careful. It would take longer than you might want, if we want to get out of here before the Order comes.”

“That’s the price we’ll have to pay, then,” Ford said grimly. Mentally, he revised his chances of avoiding an Order attack from ‘slight’ to ‘nearly nonexistent.’

Ford stood nearby with Dipper as the minotaurs descended into the UFO — better that all the heavy bull-men and their large metal containers went first. Dipper bounced on his heels. “Oh my gosh this is so cool, Grunkle Ford! We’re really going down into a spaceship! How long has this been here? Where did the aliens go? How’d you find it? How’d you know that you needed it for the portal? Did Stanley help get it last time? I’m so excited!”

Ford blinked at the torrent of words. Dipper did this often enough that it wasn’t new to him, but the boy asked questions so fast that Ford wasn’t even sure Dipper wanted the answers. He just wanted to ask the questions.

But Ford couldn’t resist answering questions.

“Oh, no,” he said, “Stanley didn’t join us until later. We hadn’t built the portal entirely when we got fuel the first time, and we filled up the tank just before Lee came. A few weeks later? Months? Something like that.”

The last minotaur started down the ladder. Ford hadn’t heard any clanging noises of barrels falling down the shaft, nor had he seen any sign of attacking Order members.

“As for how long it’s been here,” he said, swinging himself down onto the ladder, “I’m not sure, exactly. But it has to have been millennia. Long enough for this hill to grow over the inorganic wreckage. The aliens are long dead. Though whether or not they propagated before they died out is still unknown.”

Dipper followed his uncle to the ladder, pausing with his hand on the railing. “Propagated? What’s that?”

Ford couldn’t help but chuckle at the look on Dipper’s face, with his nose wrinkled and his eyes squinted in confusion. “Reproduced. Were they the ancestors of one of the supernatural species here in Gravity Rises? Or did they all die in the crash? I expect only Bill Cipher knows, and I doubt he’ll tell us. Last time he helped me with my research, it was pure trickery to help him escape this dimension.”

“Hey, Stanford,” one of the minotaurs called from below, “where do we need to take these things?”

“Ah, yes,” Ford said to himself. He hurried down the rest of the ladder and into the darkness, his feet finding the metal flooring. He fished around in his pockets for a headlamp. “Cover your eyes.”

There were a few surprised groans when he turned the light on — some of the minotaurs hadn’t listened to him, apparently. Ford fastened the lamp around the crown of his head. “This way.”

“Wait for me, Grunkle Ford!” Dipper came sliding down the ladder and landed with a _thunk_ on the ground. It sounded like it hurt, but he jumped to his feet just as Ford turned the lamp to him. “All right-y, let’s do this thing!” He started down the passage.

“Wrong way, Dipper,” Ford called.

Ford led his companions through the spaceship, moving by memory. He worried about getting them lost, but the fuel reserves weren’t far, and thankfully he could remember some of the checkpoints. A few minutes later, they reached the fuel reserves: florescent pink liquid that glowed with an unnatural light, encased in a giant tank.

“Woah,” Dipper breathed.

Ford smiled to himself. He remembered feeling a similar sense of awe when he first saw the fuel reserves. The glowing liquid cast a purple hue on the surrounding room, like a fancy nightlight in a young girl’s room.

“That’s some powerful magic,” someone said in awe. Ford turned his head to see Andrew staring up at the reserves. “How do we access it?”

Ford looked around the room for the spigot. “Over here.” Fiddleford had installed a spigot into the tank so that they could extract the fuel. How he did it without flooding the room, Ford would never know, but the man really was a mechanical genius.

Genius enough to build a memory gun that would make Ford forget about his own twin brother.

Ford shook his head. He could be resentful later. Right now, they needed to get the fuel.

He showed the minotaurs how to work the spigot, and they got to work. Ford’s anxiety lessened the more they filled their barrels, but it didn’t go away entirely. It would never go away until Stanley was safe.

They were halfway through the third barrel when the call went up outside.

A loud bellow travelled down the entrance shaft and into the spaceship. There were no words, but Ford didn’t need words — the minotaurs above would not be roaring for any other reason than an attack.

“What was that?” Dipper asked, looking at Ford with wide eyes.

“The Order,” Ford said grimly. “Come on, let’s hurry.”

But the spigot only went so fast. Ford stared out it in anticipation, cursing his and Fidds’ lack of foresight when they only installed _one_ spout. Why hadn’t they done multiple? Maybe Fidds had access to the future somehow, and he only did one _just_ so Ford would be held up during this expedition.

He shook his head at that utterly paranoid thought and pulled out his stun gun, slipping Stan’s brass knuckles onto four of his six fingers — well, his five fingers and a thumb, really. Thumbs weren’t actually fingers.

Up above, the sounds of battle raged. They weren’t very audible this far underground, but Ford could still hear distant thumps and crashes and roars. How long would the two minotaurs be able to hold them off?

“Third one done,” a minotaur announced.

“Good, start the fourth one!” Ford instructed. “We only need six, really — eight 55-gallon barrels would give us over four hundred gallons, and we only need three hundred. I brought all eight just in case, but if it comes to it, we can leave two behind.”

The minotaurs nodded in understanding. One of them shoved his barrel beneath the spigot and started filling it.

“You three,” Ford said to the finished minotaurs, thinking only of efficiency and not of kindness, “put your barrels in the corner, out of the way, and come with me over to the ladder. They may be already climbing down, and I can pick them off with my stun gun.”

“Grunkle Ford!” exclaimed Dipper in alarm. “That’s a long fall! I thought we just wanted them out of the way, not hurt!”

Ford turned an exasperated gaze on his grandnephew. “That’s why I’m taking the minotaurs with me.” He looked to his companions. “Do you think you’d be able to catch them?”

“Sure,” one with blueish-grey hair said, “but that’s still a long way to fall.”

“Better someone’s arms than the unyielding ground.” Ford glanced at Dipper over his shoulder. “You have your stun gun?”

He pulled it out of his shorts, where he was apparently keeping it in the waistband of his pants. “Yep!” Ford resisted a shudder. _Note to self: Sanitize that gun when you get back._

“Good. Defend that spigot, you hear me? And the barrels.” He gestured vaguely to where the minotaurs had put them, near the spigot but not so close that an attacker could get to both at once. Then he waved to the minotaurs. “You three, this way.”

He led the minotaurs back down the corridors of the spaceship to the ladder. Sunlight floated down from above them, revealing the ladder above. Just as Ford suspected: robed people scrambled down the rungs. The minotaurs got into position at the bottom of the ladder, and Ford started shooting upwards. As he fired, he vaguely wondered where the shots would go when they missed. Would they just keep going until they dissipated? Or would they fall down and hit the minotaurs?

But he couldn’t worry about that right now. He had to keep firing. He _had_ to protect their final resource for rescuing Stanley.  

Luckily, none of the minotaurs got hit by falling stun blasts. Ford knew he was missing half the time — the lighting was dim, and he was firing from an awkward angle — so the blasts must be dissolving into the air. The Order members that Ford _did_ hit fell from the ladder, landing in the arms of the minotaurs, who quickly set them aside so their arms would be open for the next victim.

The Order members kept coming. They’d get lower and lower before Ford would tag them with the stun gun. He was losing ground quickly — he had to do something.

Another minotaur came jogging over to them. “Anything I can do?”

Ford fired off another shot. It missed. “Yes,” he said. “Get under the ladder. I’m going to try something. Get ready to catch falling bodies.”

The four minotaurs got into position. Ford took aim. The nearest Order members were almost to the minotaurs, but Ford wasn’t aiming at them.

He was aiming at the topmost cultist.

It took him two shots to make a hit, but when he did, it had the effect he’d hoped for. The unconscious cultist fell, knocking into lower Order members like dominoes. There were screams as they lost their grip on the ladder and tumbled down the shaft.

The minotaurs did their best to break the cultists’ fall. There were about five falling people, including the one Ford had hit with the stun gun, and the bull-men managed to catch them all — though at an awkward angle in some cases. The conscious ones thrashed against the minotaurs, but they held them firmly, unwrapping their knockout patches and pressing them to their captives’ necks.

Ford looked up the shaft to ensure that there were no more descending Order members, then turned his attention to the scuffle nearby. If it could even be called a scuffle — the Order members had no chance against the minotaurs.

The closest minotaur unwrapped his patch, a man with dusty brown hair pinned beneath his arm. Ford frowned at the man, who was fighting against his captor, and wondered why he looked familiar.

Then he got it.

“Wait,” he said to the minotaur. “Leave him awake for now.”

The man — Robbie’s father, Ford was almost sure of it — looked up at Ford in a panic. It only lasted a split second, though, before fading back to anger.

“You’re Robbie’s father, correct?” Ford asked.

The man hesitated, as if weighing the consequences of answering. “Yes,” he finally said.

Ford made an attempt a disarming smile, but he doubted it was very effective. Lee was the skilled one in the disarming-smile department. Ford imagined him charming his way through the multiverse for the last thirty years, and that thought turned his smile genuine.

“What are you smiling over?” Mr. Corduroy demanded, his voice strained as if he were forcing down fear. “How you’ve tricked Robbie into doing your dirty work? How you’re going to destroy everything?”

“I was trying to calm you down,” Ford replied coolly. “Interesting that you’d call warning people my ‘dirty work.’ I was under the impression that it was keeping people safe. How is that going, by the way?”

“We went out yesterday to warn people about your machine, and Robbie and Janice are out again today. But all the warnings in the world can’t negate the risk.”

“No, I suppose they can’t,” Ford said quietly.

Mr. Corduroy’s tone turned a little desperate. “Please, Stanford, reconsider. Scientific progress should not be valued over human safety. These people are innocent.”

Ford was quiet for a long moment — partly because his mind was racing, and partly to stall. Above, the sounds of battle raged, and behind him, he could hear the spigot running in the distance. Finally, he spoke. “Is that really why you think I’m doing this? Scientific progress?”

“Yes. A being who can’t lie informed our leader that this is, in fact, why you’re doing this.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “And is Miss Pleasure unable to lie as well as Cipher?”

Mr. Corduroy hesitated.

“Robbie told me that you said I was obsessive,” Ford said. “And I suppose that isn’t too far off the mark. But we’re not doing this for scientific progress or to hurt anyone. I’m trying to rescue someone — someone _your_ organization made me forget.”

“Then it was probably for good reason,” Mr. Corduroy said.

The anger that rose in Ford’s chest was nearly too strong to contain. But he managed to force it down. It took him a few moments to regain control, but once he did, he wondered whether Mr. Corduroy had seen Ford and Pacifica’s conversation at the Order headquarters some days previously. “Were you there the other night?” he asked. “When we retrieved the Journal?” Surely no one could see the naked desperation on Ford’s face that night and believe _he_ was the one in the wrong.

“You mean _stole_ from us,” Mr. Corduroy said. Ford didn’t correct him, though he — once again — had to fight the instinct down. “No, I wasn’t. Robbie took both Janice and me out to dinner. His treat.” His face darkened. “Now I see it was just to get us out of the way.”

“It was to keep you safe,” Ford said. “From us. Isn’t that what you’ve dedicated your life to doing? Keeping people safe?”

Mr. Corduroy’s eyes flared in anger. Ford nodded to the minotaur. “Don’t be too hard on Robbie,” he said to Mr. Corduroy. “He’s a good kid.” As he spoke, the minotaur placed a knockout patch to the cultist’s neck.

Glaring eyes rolled back in his skull as Mr. Corduroy lost consciousness.

“Clear a path for us,” Ford instructed the minotaur. “Wouldn’t do to drop a steel drum on anyone after working so hard to prevent injury.”

The minotaur nodded, setting Mr. Corduroy aside. Ford wanted to go back and check on the fuel, but he didn’t dare leave the ladder in case any more Order members came down. So he compromised by yelling back through the spaceship. “Dipper!”

He didn’t want any enemies to overhear the answer if he asked about the minotaurs’ progress, and he figured Dipper could get here fast. Sure enough, pattering feet sounded down the corridor.

“What is it?” Dipper asked. He slowed to a stop as he saw the dozen or so Order members unconscious on the floor. “Woah.”

“Are all the barrels full?”

“We’re just about to finish the sixth one,” Dipper reported.

Ford nodded. “Good. Go back and tell them to leave one person here to guard the barrels. The rest of them will come up with me.” He paused. “You stay here, too. If anyone comes down here, you can shoot them.”

Dipper gave him a flat look. “You’re just saying that so you don’t have to put me in danger.”

“Maybe so,” Ford said. “You and whoever stays down here are the last defense. If anyone gets to you, you’ll certainly be in danger. I hope that doesn’t happen, though.”

Dipper ran back to the fuel reserves. The minotaur with Ford had moved the Order members out of the way so they lined the corridor in front of the ladder. A dismal sight indeed.

“Let’s get up there,” Ford said to his companion. They ascended the ladder together, only to emerge on a scene of bloodless carnage. Four minotaurs were tangling with Order members at the base of the hill. There were many bodies in the snow, a lot more than five knockout patches each, and Ford hoped the minotaurs hadn’t caused any serious injury.

Ford frowned. Wait. . . weren’t there five minotaurs up here?

He scanned the area around the hill and found the fifth entangled in a net off to the side. The minotaur struggled against the netting, but a ring of Order members surrounding him kept the net firmly anchored in the snow.

An enraged roar tore Ford’s attention back to the other four, and he watched as a second minotaur was pinned down by another net. The three free minotaurs set to freeing their friend, shoving away Order members, and the minotaur next to Ford ran down the hill to join them.

A sixth minotaur joining the fight alerted the Order members to the enemies on the hill. With a shout of alarm, a good amount of them broke away and ran up the hill.

Coming for Ford.

Well, that was fine. He had the high ground. He shot the stun gun down the hill, picking them off one by one.

But they were coming from all directions, too fast for Ford to get them all. He did his best, spinning quickly to fire off shot after shot, but the spinning made him dizzy. A lot more dizzy than he’d like to admit. Curse his age!

The first Order members made it up the hill. Someone slammed into him from behind, sending him tumbling down the hill. His shoulder erupted in pain, where he’d been hit, and he knew he’d be one big bruise after it all. At least the snow was here to numb the pain — but that was dangerous as well.

Ford lay there in the snow at the base of the hill, trying to muster the energy to get up. He couldn’t. They’d beaten him just with one good shove.

Shame welled deep inside him as more Order members came running to him. _No_. No, he would _not_ go down this easily!

As the first one reached him, he lashed out with his brass-knuckled fist, connecting solidly with the woman’s shin. As she instinctively lifted her hurt leg, he punched the other one. With nothing holding her to the ground, the cultist went sprawling in the snow.

Ford pushed himself to his knees, doing his best to fight the Order members bearing down on him. But now _they_ had the high ground. He tried to stand, but they pushed him down. Where was his stun gun? He must’ve lost it in the tumble down the hill. He thrashed against his attackers, hitting whatever he could with the brass knuckles.

A net fell on top of him.

It didn’t really do anything but add annoyance at first. Ford still fought through it, though his punches were probably less effective with rope between his fists and his targets. As the Order members held the net down in the snow, though, he found himself less able to move. The net got tighter and tighter, until finally Ford was lying in the snow again, unable to do much more than twitch.

He felt hands grasping him, and he shied away from their touch. It took him a second to realize the hands were rustling through his pockets.

Rage swept through Ford. _No one_ _touches my pockets but_ me _!_

He struggled against the net, to no avail. The hands departed as their owner found what he was looking for. The man held it up above his captive.

Ford’s heart sank as he recognized the knockout patch.

He kept fighting against the net, but he was running out of energy. This snow was freezing, and it sapped any life Ford had before his capture. The cultist unwrapped the knockout patch and brought it down to Ford.

Ford yelled something. He wasn’t sure what. Something nonsensical, probably. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop the Order, nor the knockout patch quickly approaching his skin.

“Good night, Stanford,” the man said.

Ford felt a cool sensation on his neck.

Then he felt nothing at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: The next two chapters contain descriptions of child abuse, as well as the emotional effects thereof. This makes the tone more serious than usual, and the content more disturbing. These chapters in no way glorify or justify the horrors of child abuse, though the details may (unintentionally) be psychologically inaccurate to any degree. If any of the following details hit close to home, I implore you and wish you the best in getting the help you need. You do not deserve to be abused.

**NINE DAYS AGO**

Gideon had to tell the Pines what he knew.

He decided the night he’d rescued Mabel from the Order, but by the time he did, it was too late. It wasn’t until he was locked in his room, shaking from the pain of Gaston’s fury, that he really thought through everything that had happened earlier. Everything he’d learned.

The Pines needed all three Journals to rescue Stanford’s brother. And Gideon had said nothing to stop it. He’d even helped it along, even though he knew it would only end in the Pines’ suffering.

He didn’t tell Mabel this when he gave her his Journal because. . . well, he’d never told _anyone_. Not even the other Order members who already knew. It just. . . wasn’t mentioned. Ever. It had been ingrained into Gideon’s young mind to never bring it up, to never even _hint_ at the secret he held. Especially around outsiders. _Especially_ around the Pines.

But when Gaston had charged him with this secret, ‘the Pines’ had just been Stanford. The old grouch running a tourist trap with the help of a couple locals. Gideon had accepted, because the punishment was far worse than telling some stranger what he knew. Then he had found the Journal, and linked it to Stanford, and he’d felt a twinge of guilt. Not nearly enough to risk his wellbeing by giving up the secret, but a little bit.

Then Mabel and Dipper had come to town.

Gideon lay there in the dark on his bed, his mind running in crazed circles, any cohesive thoughts drowned out by the pain. He tried to focus on something else, but he couldn’t, not when his arms and back were hurting like this. The servants had bandaged him up like they always did — nothing to soothe the pain, but bandages to stop him from bleeding on the bedding. Sometimes, Gideon wanted to rip the bandages off and soak his sheets with blood just to spite them. But that would be petty. It wouldn’t change anything.

 _Telling the Pines isn’t petty_ , his brain reminded him, bringing his thoughts back around. No, it wouldn’t be petty. And it would definitely change things. But it would end in pain. Much worse pain than what he was suffering tonight.

If he told the Pines, and Gaston found out. . .

A fresh wave of pain knifed through him, scattering Gideon’s thoughts. It may have been physical, it may have been imagined, it may have been both. He wasn’t sure. It felt real.

It took him a moment to sort it out. These days, the pain of the abuse and the fear of the abuse were always with him, and he had increasing difficulty telling them apart. But this. . . right, he remembered. This was pain. This was real. He had run away to save Mabel, and Gaston had responded as he always did. With pain.

Mabel. . .

He imagined seeing her face when she discovered his secret. Shocked, hurt — probably more hurt than he had ever seen her, even after his own terrible actions. There was no way to avoid that horror, that grief, but maybe. . . if he told the Pines before they found out the hard way. . . maybe he could prevent some of their pain.

Some of the pain. . . but not all of it. Why had he given Mabel his Journal? Why hadn’t he explained it right then and there?

Even as he asked himself, even as he cursed himself, he knew the answer. Fear. He was so afraid. . . afraid of his father, afraid of the Pines hating him — of Mabel hating him, _again_ — and of the physical and emotional pain that would follow his confession. He’d been so caught off guard by Mabel’s explanation of the Pines’ project that he’d run on automatic: don’t tell. Mabel’s pleading eyes had penetrated far enough for him to give her the Journal, but they had not gotten past the wall that Gaston had placed. The wall that would protect this secret at all costs.

And as Gideon lay there, wrapped in bandages that were growing more red by the minute, he hated that wall. He hated Gaston. He hated himself.

He finally dropped off to sleep that night, though he was woken up repeatedly by stabs of pain from his various cuts, bruises, and burns. When that happened, pure exhaustion drove him back to dreamland, which was every bit as unpleasant as reality. He was plagued with nightmares about Mabel, about Ford’s brother, about the outcome of the Pines’ mission to save him. Every end result Gideon could think of was negative, and his dreams showcased this. He wasn’t sure how much of it was torture from Bill and how much of it was torture from his own mind.

Either way, there was no escape.

The next week passed in the same fashion, with night after night of horrible dreams. His injuries got better, though they left new scars that Gideon covered with long sleeves and a high collar. He couldn’t leave his room with any skin exposed, lest his mother should see. He suspected she knew something about all this — Northwests had been using physical abuse as a way to control their sons for generations — but any mention of it around her whatsoever would lead to more torture from Gaston. So he wore long sleeves, kept a happy demeanor around Geneva, and quietly wasted away inside.

He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not even his own mother.

He couldn’t go out to the forest to wind down, either. After his blatant disobedience the other night, Gideon was basically on house arrest. No leaving the grounds, and Gaston kept his amulet locked up. The only time Gideon got to use it was when he performed memory wipings for the Order. And for that, Gaston sent no less than two servants along to escort him. Gideon’s father knew as well as he did the limitations of the amulet: one person at a time. If Gideon dared to use his amulet against one servant, the other one would subdue him.

Gideon tried to make plans to run away and tell the Pines his secret. But with constant supervision and no amulet, it seemed impossible.

Then, five days after rescuing Mabel, he heard the news: the Pines had broken into the Order headquarters. They’d stolen the first Journal.

They had all three.

When Gideon heard this, he locked himself in his room for a solid five hours. He just. . . he had to be alone. His first reaction, after escaping the eyes of everyone else in the house, was to sink to the floor, crying and shaking and hyperventilating. He never let anyone see his panic attacks — not ever. But sometimes, when all the pain and frustration and rage built up too high for too long, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He usually could go a couple months before that happened. Not this time. Though it’d been less than a week since his panic attack in the graveyard, here was another one, unwanted but unavoidable.

Once the physical reaction had run its course, Gideon lay huddled on the ground, tear tracks etched into his face. He could think through this, now that his traitorous body was done with him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in here. It didn’t matter.

He had to stop the Pines.

Not the way the Order did — the Order wanted to shut the entire thing down. Most of its members believed it was because of the danger the Pines’ machine would pose, but Gideon knew the real reason: Bill did not want the Pines to succeed. He didn’t want Ford to save his brother.

Gideon didn’t know what _he_ wanted, himself. He just knew that turning on the machine would bring negative consequences for everyone, including — especially — the Pines. If they had all the information, they wouldn’t be doing this. But no one would give them all the information.

No one but Gideon.

He pushed himself upright, staring around his room. He _would_ , but how _could_ he? He was trapped! He was limited to the Northwest Manor and the Order headquarters, and none of the Pines was _there_. For a second, Gideon entertained a foolish hope that the Order would capture the Pines, just so he could see them again and tell them. He immediately shut that thought down. It was the imagination of a crazed mind. He didn’t need that right now. He needed _solutions_.

 _Do you?_ his mind asked timidly. _Or do you need to put this whole thing to rest? The Pines can take care of themselves. This isn’t worth your father’s wrath. Are you really going to risk certain doom just to confess_ bad _news to the Pines?_

Gideon followed that train of thought for a while. Wouldn’t the Pines be okay without his meddling? Was it even possible to deliver the message? Or would he just get the worst beating of his lifetime? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should just leave well enough alone.

Then he saw Mabel’s face.

He saw it so clearly in his mind’s eye that, for a moment, his addled brain thought she was in the room with him. The phantom Mabel stared at him, her eyes filling with tears, looking worn down and miserable, her body crumpling in despair. She’d be heartbroken.

Well. . . she’d be heartbroken whether or not Gideon told her, because she was going to find out eventually. But the sooner he told them — told _her —_ the sooner he could prevent the worst of it.

Gideon sat there, alone on the floor of his bedroom, thinking this whole thing over for a long time. He vacillated a lot between his two options: try to tell the Pines, or just sit here quietly as they unknowingly brought upon themselves anguish. The latter was by far the more logical and practical. Whenever his emotions got in the way, his logic screamed at him that he’d just be making things worse for himself. Whenever his logic cleared the air, his emotions would just come right back, showing him Mabel’s horror and Dipper’s anger and Stanford’s anguish.

Eventually, his emotions won.

That simple fact disturbed him. His emotions. . . never won. It was too dangerous to be emotional around Gaston; Gideon had to keep his eyes open and his mind sharp to do what he must to avoid punishment.

But this. . . this was the opposite of avoiding punishment. This was _inviting_ punishment. And he’d done it before, too. Just five days earlier, when he had gone after Mabel.

She was the reason his feelings finally defeated his analytical mind. Gideon wasn’t sure what to make of that.

But he didn’t try to fight it.


	11. Chapter 11

Gideon’s thoughts remained on Mabel for the next few days. Whenever he wasn’t focused on escape plans, he wondered about Mabel. What she was doing, how she was feeling, if. . . well, if she ever thought about him.

He got more and more excited at the prospect of seeing her, too. He tried to stamp out those feelings — there wasn’t much chance this would even work, so he shouldn’t get his hopes up. But he couldn’t. He wanted to see Mabel, and he had to tell the Pines his secret, and he found himself lost in petty fantasies where the Pines took him in and kept him safe from Gaston. Gideon watched and waited for his opportunity to run.

Finally, that opportunity came.

It was a little over a week since he’d rescued Mabel from Pacifica. He had just finished breakfast with his mother — which was highly unusual, but she’d sensed something was wrong with him and reached out in the best way she knew how. It really just made it all worse, since he couldn’t confide in her, but he tried to appreciate the gesture. He wondered how much control Gaston had over his wife, if a meal together was the most interaction she could have with her son.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. On his way from the dining room, Gideon was stopped by Gaston. Not a servant delivering a message, but Gaston himself. “You’re needed,” he said, which was a brief way to say that there was someone at the Order in need of mind-wiping.

“All right,” Gideon replied. He turned and started walking down the hall, taking the turn that led to the secret entrance to the Order headquarters.

Gaston followed him.

Gideon kept expecting — kept hoping for — him to turn away, to simply have a similar route as he. But he didn’t. He followed him all the way to the staircase beneath the tapestry entrance.

Gideon swallowed down panic and asked, with as much humility as he could manage, “Are you coming with me?”

“Yes,” Gaston said shortly. “I am your escort today.” And he reached into his pocket to pull out the amulet.

Gideon flinched. For a moment there, he’d thought his father was extracting the whistle. Gaston saw the gesture and nodded curtly. _Good,_ that nod said. _I am in control here._

The two Northwests walked silently through the corridor that connected the Order headquarters to the Northwest Manor. Gaston didn’t hand Gideon his amulet, not until they were right outside the door to the memory chamber. Gideon fastened it to his lapel, wishing he could use it to blast everyone out of the way and run away right then and there. But that wasn’t an option, not this deep into the Order of the Crescent Eye — not with his father standing right beside him.

Gideon entered the room to see Candy Chui. He groaned inwardly. Her, _again_? She was brought down here, what, every week? Her mother was an Order member, and one of the more paranoid ones, too. Any mention of the supernatural from her daughter, and Candy was hauled down here for a wipe.

“ _Gideon_?” she said in the exact same tone of shock that she had every time she saw him down here. “What is this? Are you here to beat me up or something?”

“No,” Gideon said shortly. His amulet glowed dimly as he searched her thoughts. She apparently had seen a hamadryad appear out of its tree. What had she been doing out there? Hamadryads were only found fairly deep in the forest. He dug a little deeper. Turned out she was looking for Dipper. She thought maybe he’d been kidnapped by the magical creatures she kept hearing rumors about.

The more he explored, the more he found. She’d been out there for a long time and seen a lot. Well, Mrs. Chui, for once you’re not being paranoid.

Candy gave him a strange look. “Um, Gideon? Why are you staring at me?”

Gideon gathered up all the memories of her excursion and wiped them clean with his amulet. Now she would only remember going in, searching for a long time, and coming back out. None of the supernatural details. He finished up by wiping her memory of coming down here, like he always did, and she slumped over in her chair. That was one benefit of mental meddling via amulet — unconsciousness. Very convenient.

Gaston gave a nod from the doorway. “Good. Let’s go.”

Mrs. Chui entered the room and crossed to her daughter, undoing the straps that bound her wrists to the chair and scooping her into her arms. “Thank you,” she said to Gideon. He nodded in return. It was an emotionless gesture, but in his mind, he was condemning Mrs. Chui for putting her daughter through all this just to keep her ‘safe’ from the supernatural. From what Gideon had seen — had experienced — Candy could easily take care of herself.

On the way out of the room, Gaston held out a hand for the amulet. Gideon’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to get to use it for anything, not with his abuser right there watching him, but. . . having it made him feel a little bit more free.

He reluctantly took off the amulet and handed it to his father.

The two of them headed back to their mansion. The oppressive walls of the Order bore down on Gideon, making it hard to breathe. It was so empty and forlorn down here, especially without Lincoln. Gideon had never known how much the leader of the Order added to the atmosphere until he was gone.

Lincoln. . .

Thinking about Lincoln reminded Gideon of his secret. Reminded Gideon of his mission to tell the Pines that secret. Reminded Gideon that he had to get out of here.

“Listen to me! We have to warn them!”

Gideon stopped. What was that? Had he imagined it? Of course _he_ had to warn them, but. . . who was _we_?

“Warn them? And tell the entire town about the supernatural?”

That was Pacifica’s voice. It, along with the other one, was floating out from a nearby room. Gaston had also stopped in place, and he shared a glance with Gideon. They both started moving simultaneously to the door.

A frustrated noise burst from the room. “Yes, if it means saving their lives! Don’t you get it? The Pines can’t be stopped, and even if they can, we have to be safe. You can have that Northwest kid wipe all their memories afterwards, I don’t care, but we can’t just keep this information to _ourselves_.”

Gaston opened the door. Gideon stepped into the room and got his first view of the speaker: one of the locals, an older teenager with black hair. That’s right. . . this guy was immune to Gideon’s amulet. Which meant he was probably on the Cipher Wheel. Gideon couldn’t remember his name, though.

“Keeping information to ourselves is what we do best.” Pacifica Pleasure sat on a chair in the center of the room. Her posture made it look like she was on a throne, though it was just a simple folding chair. A handful of Order members stood around her, with two more standing near the black-haired boy.

The boy looked like he wanted to scream. Gideon wasn’t surprised — this was Pacifica he was dealing with, after all. “Yeah, but I thought you guys did all that to keep people safe! Not telling them about this will put them in _danger_!”

Pacifica smiled serenely. “We’ll stop the Pines before the anomalies start.”

“Oh yeah?” the boy demanded. “And what if you don’t? Gravity is going to go crazy in a couple days, maybe even today, and if you guys _can’t_ stop it, people could get seriously hurt! They deserve to know enough to protect themselves!”

One of the Order members that stood next to him put a hand on his arm. “Patience, Robbie,” she murmured, glancing at Pacifica.

Pacifica caught the look. “Well? And what do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Corduroy?”

Gideon remembered now. The boy was Robbie Corduroy, and the people standing next to him were his parents. They’d brought him in for a memory wiping, only to find out that Gideon’s amulet didn’t work on their son. Didn’t Robbie work at the Mystery Museum, too? Had he talked to the Pines recently?

Mrs. Corduroy took a deep breath. “We agree with Robbie, Miss Pleasure,” she said. “What if we can’t stop the Pines? I don’t think we should give up, but we have to keep the people safe in case we fail. We’ve created pamphlets, and we’re going to go hand them out around town. People will probably think we’re crazy, but we at least have to try. All we’re asking is that you don’t wipe people’s memories until this whole catastrophe is over.”

As his mother spoke, Robbie noticed Gideon and caught his eye. Gideon gazed steadily back. He was all for this plan. But that didn’t mean he’d get to follow it — he wasn’t the one in control of the mind-wiping.

Pacifica noticed Gideon and Gaston as well. “Oh, good, the Northwests are here. Perfect timing. I assume you’ve heard the proposition? Thoughts?”

Gideon wanted to speak up, but he didn’t dare speak before his father did. Gaston cleared his throat. “I see no problem with Gideon wiping everyone after the fact, except perhaps how long it would take. This precaution, however, does make me worry that we would no longer try to stop the Pines.”

 _What ‘we’?_ Gideon wanted to ask. _It’s not like_ you’re _doing anything to help stop them, Father._ But he kept his mouth shut.

Pacifica’s smile froze on her face. “Of course we’re still trying to stop the Pines. Lord Cipher happens to know that they’re going on an expedition to the fallen UFO tomorrow, and I fully intend to send our members after them. Would you, perhaps, like to be a part of that, Mr. Northwest?” she finished, a barb in her tone.

Gideon grinned inwardly. Thank you, Pacifica, my father would never lash out against a leader of the Order. Seeing Gaston being put in his place was a rare — but delightful — treat.

Gaston gave a little cough. “Perhaps if I helped the Corduroys spread the word instead? People will listen to someone with local authority.” The disdainful glance he gave to the Corduroys made it clear his thoughts on _their_ local authority. “It would be quite generous of me to put my reputation on the line like so,” he added.

Gideon agreed with that statement, which was why he was surprised his father was offering at all. Maybe he felt he had to do _something,_ even if it wasn’t fighting with the Pines directly.

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. She didn’t say anything for a minute, but all her judgment of the elder Northwest was clear on her face.

“All right,” she finally said. “We’ll do it. Northwests and Corduroys, you’re in charge of spreading the word. The rest of us will focus on stopping the Pines. Regardless of the results of the next few days — though we _will_ stop the Pines — Gideon will have a lot of mind-wiping ahead of him.” For the first time since he’d entered the room, she glanced at Gideon, giving her friend a little smile.

Robbie gave a sigh of relief. His father punched him playfully in the arm. “Thank you, Miss Pleasure,” said Mrs. Corduroy.

The Corduroys wanted to go out immediately, so Gaston agreed to leave with them. As they left, he gestured with Gideon to come with him.

Gideon’s heart skipped a beat. Was this it? Was this his chance?

The five of them left the Order headquarters through the entrance beneath the town library. The adults spoke together to make plans, but Gideon and Robbie were silent. They had nothing to say to each other. Sometimes, Gideon would glance over to seeing Robbie glaring at him, just for the older teen to look away hurriedly. He still hadn’t forgiven Gideon for attempting to wipe his memory, apparently. _It’s not my fault, Robbie!_ Gideon wanted to scream. _Do you think I_ want _to do this?!_

But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t say any of that. He couldn’t say most of the things that ran through his mind.

When he exited the Order headquarters, Gideon breathed a welcome sigh of relief. Finally! He was finally out of the Northwest grounds! He’d never been impressed with this tiny town, but right now, he just felt happy to be in it.

His eyes travelled the direction of the Mystery Museum. There it was. He was so close. Could he just make a break for it? Gaston had his amulet, so there was little chance of getting that back. He’d have to make do without it. He would wait until they were close to the Museum. Then he’d run. He’d go and pound on the door and shout for the Pines until they opened it, and he’d tell them. He’d tell them what they needed to know.

The Corduroys had their posters and their pamphlets with them, so the party split up. Mr. Corduroy and Robbie went to hang up posters, while Mrs. Corduroy, Gaston, and Gideon would go spread the word and hand out pamphlets.

Gaston was right that people would listen to him. When he walked into the town square, everyone stopped to look. There weren’t too many people out and about, not in the middle of winter in Oregon, but there were enough that they could also spread the word.

If they believed them.

As Gaston explained the gravitational anomalies, which the Corduroys had explained to _him_ just moments earlier, Gideon kept glancing toward the Mystery Museum. He tried not to — _control_ yourself, Northwest — but he couldn’t help it. The town square was even further away from the Museum than the library was. But Gaston had been paying attention to Gideon then, and now he was focused on warning people about the anomalies. He was facing away from the Museum, too. If Gideon ran now, his father may not notice in time to stop him.

He wished he had his amulet to aid him, but he couldn’t focus on that. He leaned over to Mrs. Corduroy. “I have an errand. Don’t mention that I’m gone.”

She looked confused, but in the Order, one was trained not to question their betters. Gideon may be forced to wipe memories, but he was still considered one of those “betters.” She didn’t question it.

Gideon walked away from the town square.

He wanted to break into a run, but he forced himself to walk at a normal pace. Until Gaston realized what he was doing, he had to act natural.

. . . Was he really doing this?

Gaston was standing _right there_. If Gideon succeeded, he’d get beaten. If he failed, he’d get beaten. All his doubts from the last week came rushing back. He couldn’t do this. He shouldn’t be doing this. Why was he doing this?

He kept walking.

He was just passing the library when the cry went up. “ _Gideon!_ ” his father shouted, outraged. Though Gideon acted autonomous in his conversation with Mrs. Corduroy, both he and his father knew that he was _not_ supposed to leave Gaston’s side.

Gideon broke into a run.

“ _Gideon Charles Northwest, you come back here right now! Someone catch him!_ ”

Well, the townspeople weren’t going to deny a direct order from Gaston Northwest. They ran for him, even the ones out on the street that hadn’t heard Gaston’s speech. But they were slow, and Gideon was confident he could beat them to the Museum.

Then two Northwest servants came out of Lazy Susan’s diner.

Gideon’s heart sank as they recognized him. Their eyes widened, and they quickly ran after him, stuffing their wallets in their back pockets. What were they doing out here?! Gideon had never imagined that his servants — Gaston’s servants, really — had _lives_ outside of the Northwest Manor. But here were these two, on a leisurely break to go get some food. They weren’t even in their butler uniforms.

That didn’t stop them from chasing Gideon.

Gideon doubled his pace, his thighs burning. Almost — there — he could — make it —

The sound of the whistle pierced the air.

Gaston had never blown it in the town of Gravity Rises. But he did now, and it carried across the snow-strewn street just fine, despite the Northwests having a fair distance between them.

Gideon cried out. No! He had beat the whistle once before — he could do it again! He willed himself to keep going.

But Mabel wasn’t in imminent danger the way she had been last time. She wasn’t even there. He could imagine her face all he wanted, but without her actual presence, he was a slave to the whistle.

He fell to the snow. All his fear crashed down on top of him. He’d known this was a bad idea — he had to get to the Pines — he’d known he would be caught and punished — the Pines _had to know_ —

The Northwest servants caught up to him. They hauled him to his feet. Gideon had no energy to resist. The high emotion, crammed into less than a minute, had coursed through him and left him burned out. He slumped against the servants’ arms, head hanging limp.

A rough hand forced his chin upward. Gideon stared into Gaston’s enraged eyes.

“Where were you going?” he asked quietly.

Gideon quailed in fear — that quiet tone was far worse than shouting in anger. From that tone, he knew he was in for it.

Gaston leaned in closer. He wouldn’t actually hit Gideon, not out in public — right? “Were you going to the Mystery Museum?”

Gideon didn’t answer.

Gaston nodded to one of the servants, and Gideon suddenly found the air knocked out of his lungs. He looked around desperately for some townsperson to see the violence, but no one was near enough to notice the blow. It had been discreet.

“Answer me when I speak to you, Gideon.”

Gideon tried to look away, but Gaston’s hand kept his head up, making it impossible. Gaston would see through a lie in an instant, but telling the truth might be even worse. Gideon had to decide quickly, though — and he decided on the truth. “Yes.”

“Going to see that girl’s pretty face again?” Gaston’s quiet tone gained an edge of mockery. “Not grateful for the luxury we give you, so you decided you’d rather be in that hovel?”

“No, sir,” Gideon whispered, which was the right answer whether or not it was true. He was just glad Gaston hadn’t figured out the real reason he was going. If he could endure this punishment, then try again. . .

Then he’d just be caught again.

It was hopeless.

Gaston nodded in satisfaction, letting go of Gideon’s chin. “I apologize to interrupt your break time,” he said to the Northwest servants. “I’m afraid this cretin needs escorting, however. Return with me to the Northwest Manor, and then you may go back on break.”

The servants agreed, and the group started walking. Gideon didn’t have the energy to walk, but being dragged was worse, so he forced his feet to plod forward and hold his weight. He had to keep up appearances. He had to hold his head high.

But he’d already shattered appearances, and he couldn’t find the motivation to try repairing them.

They stopped for Gaston to explain the situation to the Corduroys — making Gideon out to be the bad guy, of course, and avoiding all mention of abuse. Robbie and his father had met up with Mrs. Corduroy, drawn by the commotion. When Robbie saw Gideon, his eyes widened, and he stared at the younger boy in misunderstanding pity.

It just made everything worse.

Gaston told the Corduroys he would return, and the servants turned Gideon toward the Northwest Manor. Gideon glanced to his left, toward the Mystery Museum, but he couldn’t see it. There were too many trees in the way.

He walked away from the town, burning both in humiliation at Robbie’s pity and shame at his own futile attempt. The Pines needed to know his secret, and he’d failed. He’d failed.

He hadn’t even gotten to see Mabel’s face again.

As he walked, the servants supporting him more than he was supporting himself, Gideon wanted nothing more than to weep.

But he couldn’t cry. Not around Gaston. At this point, he didn’t even care if his father saw him cry — but he still couldn’t. Even when he tried, the tears wouldn’t come. He had so much practice hiding his feelings that, now that he wished he could show them, he was physically unable.

The servants marched Gideon back to his prison, Gaston walking in front of them.

And from this angle, Gideon had full view of the man who had broken his son.


	12. Chapter 12

**PRESENT DAY, JUST BEFORE SUNSET**

Ford awoke to a gentle swaying and bouncing. Like. . . like he was being carried.

His eyes snapped open, and he thrashed wildly in his carrier’s arms as he remembered everything that had happened at Crash Site Omega. No — no, he couldn’t be taken back to the Order —

“Woah, Stanford, it’s okay,” said a deep, gravelly voice. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

His panicked vision focused. It wasn’t a human holding him, like he’d originally thought.

He was in the arms of a minotaur.

He breathed a sigh of relief and settled back into the minotaur’s arms. Then his face flushed, and he tried to get up again. “Put me down,” he said. It was humiliating being _carried._

“I don’t know,” another minotaur said, one that Ford couldn’t see at this angle. “You took a pretty nasty fall down that hill.”

“And you were pegged with your own knockout patch,” added a third.

“I’m fine,” Ford said tersely. “Put me down.”

He couldn’t see anything but the sky and the tawny beard of the minotaur holding him, but he imagined the minotaurs all sharing looks.

“Okay, if you say so,” the one holding him finally said. He gently lowered Ford to his feet and stepped back.

The Author’s knees buckled.

The tawny minotaur quickly came to Ford’s rescue, scooping him up again. “Yep,” he said, “you’re being carried.”

Ford protested weakly — and ineffectively, because the minotaur didn’t put him down. He didn’t really want him to, but he still argued. On principle.

“Grunkle Ford!” came a shout. “You’re awake!”

Dipper came running through the minotaurs, bringing Ford’s attention to his surroundings. Nine minotaurs were hooked up to the sledge, carrying all eight barrels over the snow. Ford’s heart lifted. They’d done it?

“What happened?” he asked. He was looking at Dipper when he said it, but the question was open for anyone to answer.

Of course, Dipper answered before anyone else could.

“We won!” he said, bouncing happily in the snow. He, Ford, and the tawny minotaur were a few feet to the side of the sledge. “Andrew and I stayed down there, so I didn’t see most of this, but another minotaur found your stun gun and used it on the Order members and the others went all _Pow! Bam! Boom!_ and fought off the rest of the Order and kept you safe and once everybody was unconscious the minotaurs came back down to carry up the barrels — we ended up filling seven of them. When I saw you I kinda freaked out, but we took the patch off you as soon as possible so it wouldn’t keep giving you its nasty juices. And now we’re headed back to the Museum!”

“He’s been a good guide,” Andrew added from the lead of the sledge’s harness.

“I’ve been trying to remember the way we came,” Dipper said. “I’m pretty sure we’re going the right way. But now that you’re awake, you can help!”

Ford looked around the forest, shadowy in the light of the setting sun. “Yes, this is the right direction.”

“Sweet!”

 The walk back to the Museum was mostly quiet — though could anything be truly quiet with Dipper around? The boy walked next to Andrew, talking with the minotaurs. They were moving at a good pace, to Ford’s satisfaction. At first, he burned in humiliation at being carried, but he gradually relaxed into it and appreciated the relief from his injuries. Melody had her work cut out for her once he got home, he thought wryly.

They reached the tree line behind the Museum as the sun brushed the top of the mountains. “We’re home!” Dipper yelled excitedly. Whether it was to alert Mabel and Melody or just to shout, Ford wasn’t sure. No one came out of the Museum, though, so the girls must be down in the basement, out of earshot.

“Take the sledge over to that totem pole,” Ford instructed the minotaurs. “Dipper, go get Mabel and Melody.”

“Yessir!” Dipper scrambled off to the porch and started banging on the door. “Mabel! Melody! Mabes, we’re back! We got the fuel!”

The door opened too soon for them to have been in the basement. “Dip, you scared us!” Mabel admonished. “We thought you were the Order!”

“Nope, we took them down!” said Dipper with a grin.

As Dipper led Mabel and Melody from the house, the minotaurs brought the sledge up to the totem pole. “Right there,” Ford said, pointing. “Pull that lever, you see it?”

Andrew unhooked himself from the harness and found the lever to which Ford was referring. It was well-disguised, painted to blend in with the rest of the totem pole. When Andrew pulled it, the entire pole started to rumble.

A portion of the pole slid upwards, revealing a metal shaft.

“That leads down to the fuel tank,” Ford explained. “That’s where you empty the barrels. Go ahead and empty all seven — the portal only needs three hundred gallons, but the tank can hold about five hundred.”

“You heard the man,” Andrew said. “Let’s get this done!”

The minotaurs shrugged off the harness and grabbed a barrel to empty. The tawny minotaur kept holding Ford, much to his chagrin. Melody looked concerned as soon as she saw him, and he didn’t want to look like this in front of Mabel. Dipper was bad enough, but he wanted to keep up his image in Mabel’s eyes. Being carried like a ragdoll did not help that image.

“What happened?” Melody asked. The tawny minotaur carefully set Ford down, and Melody immediately moved into a support carry, with Ford’s arm draped over her shoulders.

“I just got roughed up by the Order, that’s all,” Ford said. “I’m fine.”

Melody gave him that look that he hated, the one that told him she believed him as much as she’d believe Bill Cipher. “We just have to send off the minotaurs, and then I can go inside,” he said begrudgingly. “And for heaven’s sake, I don’t want anyone holding me up when I thank them.”

“Can you stand on your own?” she asked.

He just shrugged.

“He fell over last time he tried,” Dipper piped up.

Ford winced. Thank you, Dipper, Melody _definitely_ needed to know that. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

The minotaurs were emptying the fourth barrel into the tank when Mabel approached Ford. “That’s so cool, I never would’ve guessed that the totem pole was anything more than a totem pole! But I guess I should’ve known better.” She flashed him a smile, and that’s when Ford knew something was wrong. The smile was too forced.

“What’s wrong, Mabel?” he asked.

The smile dropped immediately. She looked down at the snow. “The Order attacked Melody and me too,” she said quietly. “There are seven Order members in the gift shop. We knocked them out and tied them up and. . .” She stopped, raising her eyes to Ford. They were wet. “Are we the bad guys, Grunkle Ford?”

Ford knew he should pat her shoulder or give her a hug or something, but he was currently too reliant on Melody to move on his own. “No, sweetie,” he said. He reached out a hand, and Mabel moved forward so he could tussle her hair. “We’re just doing what’s necessary. You didn’t injure them?”

Mabel shook her head.

“Then you’re not the bad guys.” Ford gave her a smile. At the same time, his mind returned to the Order members back at Crash Site Omega. Did the minotaurs leave them there in the cold? He’d have to ask them to go back and check on them. After everything the minotaurs had done for the Pines today, Ford knew they’d owe them a big debt. But they could worry about that later. “Are they awake now?” he asked instead

“They woke up a few hours ago,” Melody said. “We just knocked them out again.”

“I recognized a lot of their faces,” Mabel whispered.

Ford gave his niece a sympathetic look. He could guess what she was going through: she had realized that these were normal people doing bad things. She also seemed to be painfully realizing that “good” and “bad” were not black and white labels.

“That’s the last one!” Andrew said. The minotaurs cheered.

Ford tried to extricate himself from Melody’s grip, but she was having none of that. “Swallow your pride and deliver your speech from here,” she whispered.

Ford shot her a glare before turning back to the minotaurs.

“Thank you all,” he said. “Really. Now that we have the fuel, we can get my brother back in less than a day. Thank you.” And he meant it, too. Gratitude, relief, and excitement ran through his worn-out body. “You were amazing. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

“Like the elders said,” Andrew replied. “Find all the Symbols. Activate the Cipher Wheel. Fulfill the prophecy.”

Ford gave him a tired nod. “We will,” he promised. “We want Bill defeated.”

Mabel and Dipper shared a significant look. Ford could almost see the mantle of responsibility settling on their young shoulders, and it sent a pang through his heart.

“Now I have one last thing to ask,” he said to the minotaurs, “if it’s not too much. What happened to the Order members at the UFO? Are they still in the snow?”

The minotaurs glanced amongst themselves, then nodded. “You woke up fairly quickly,” Andrew said. “An hour or two. They’ll probably be okay.”

“Yes, but you took the knockout patch off me,” Ford said. “Their patches are still on them. And I know the knockout patches weren’t the only method used to initiate unconsciousness. Could you, by any chance, go check on them? Make sure they’re okay? Help them get home, perhaps?” He doubted the Order members would ever let a supernatural creature near their homes, but they should at least offer.

The minotaurs were all silent. “I don’t understand,” Andrew said. “These are your enemies. Why would you care about their well-being?”

“They’re people,” Mabel and Dipper said at the same time.

Ford nodded. “Please,” he said. “I know they hurt you too.” He could see a few bruises and limps. But none of the minotaurs were in nearly as bad a shape as he was, and they could all pull the sledge. “But we’re trying to be as humane as we can.” He looked to Mabel. “To remind ourselves that we’re the good guys.”

She beamed at him, and he felt a thrill race through his chest.

“All right,” Andrew agreed. “We’ll go check on them. Their beef is with you, and they’re generally polite to the supernatural. If they refuse our help, though, we’re out of there.”

Dipper grinned. “’Their beef is with you,’” he whispered loudly to Mabel. “Think that pun was on purpose?”

Andrew grinned back like it was definitely on purpose.

Ford shot Dipper a look. “Thank you,” he said to the minotaurs. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said. “We wish you the good fortune. Don’t forget us when you tell your brother how you saved him,” he added with a grin.

“I won’t,” Ford said.

Dipper, of course, had to go say goodbye to every single minotaur. He’d probably learned all their names, too, and not just Andrew’s. Ford shook his head and smiled softly as he watched his nephew give the bull-men fist bumps and high fives. As the minotaurs left, he shouted more goodbyes after them, waving so fast Ford was sure his arm would fall off.

“Let’s go inside,” Melody said. “Do we need to bring any of that in?” She nodded to the sledge and the barrels.

“Later,” Ford said. “First, we’re going to turn the portal on.”

“For real this time!” Dipper cheered. Ford blinked in surprise. Where had he come from? Wasn’t he just waving to the minotaurs?

“And you’re going to tell me everything!” Mabel yelled after him as he ran up the porch steps.

“Yeah!”

Melody helped Ford inside. “If you just sit on the couch, I’ll go get your—”

“No,” Ford said with a firm shake of his head. “The portal first. We’re so close, Melody.”

She pursed her lips, but thankfully didn’t argue.

They went out to the gift shop, where the twins were waiting for them. Sure enough, seven unconscious Order members lay on the floor. They’d have to do something about that. But not right now. Right now, they were going to initiate the portal.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said as soon as she saw him, “Grunkle Ford, I forgot to mention — they knew the passcode to the vending machine. Bill must’ve told them.”

Ford thought this over for a second. “All right,” he said. “I’ll change the password and keep it to myself. He won’t know it then.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Mabel said. She looked a little proud of herself for coming to the same conclusion.

Ford wanted to go turn the portal on right away, but they were in danger as long as they kept the current password. “Melody, you’ll have to let go of me. Everybody go stand on the other side of the room to be sure.”

Melody hesitated.

“I’ll use the vending machine to support myself,” Ford said. “It’ll be okay.”

So she reluctantly let go of him. He eased his weight onto the side of the vending machine and got to work on the passcode. “All right,” he said after a few minutes. He typed the new code in, and the vending machine opened.

Sending Ford to the floor.

Melody ran over to catch him as he fell. “Right,” he said ruefully. “I wasn’t thinking. Let’s go.”

The Pines went down to the portal. Now, even before Ford turned the light on, the room was awash in the pink glow of the fuel. When he flipped the switch, the florescent lights mixed calmly with the fuel’s radiance.

The hum of the portal seemed to be higher in pitch. As if the machine itself knew what was coming and was excited for it.

Melody helped Ford over to the control station and into the chair, and he began the initialization process. His fingers moved quickly, as if he’d last done this just yesterday instead of thirty years ago. He pushed a lever to maximum, and the fuel bubbled as the tank heated up.

A buzzer sounded. Everyone jumped.

A screen above the control panel flickered to life. Green words appeared on its surface: **EVENT INTIALIZED**.

The words disappeared, and a countdown replaced it. **18:00:00. 17:59:59. 17:59:58.**

Ford opened a hatch on the side of the control station and pressed the button underneath. The portal’s hum deepened, and the area inside the circle turned bright white.

Dipper shook Mabel back and forth. “This is it! This is happening!”

Ford would have punched his twin if he had done that, but Mabel shook her twin back, just as violently as he had her. “Eighteen hours!” she crowed.

“Eighteen hours! Eighteen hours!” The twins danced around the room, laughing and cheering and singing. Ford couldn’t resist a tired smile. At least they still had the energy to show their excitement.

Then gravity turned off.

Ford felt it before anything else. The aches and pains in his body suddenly lessened, freed from gravity’s pull. The twins stomped on the ground as they danced, and the force of their footfalls sent them flying through the air.

“Woah,” Melody said next to Ford. She hadn’t moved, because nothing had pushed her, but Ford knew she could feel it. “That feels so weird.”

The twins flailed in the air, clinging to each other. Eventually, they ran into the observation window. Ford ducked his head to avoid them, and the force of even that small movement sent him and his chair drifting upward.

Melody pulled him back down, careful with how much strength she used. When gravity was gone, the consequences of one’s physical actions were greatly magnified. Even with caution, though, she miscalculated, and now Melody was floating with Ford.

“Lesson one,” Ford said, “don’t use yourself as an anchor.”

Melody just gave him a flat look.

It was only a few minutes before gravity returned. Once everybody was back on the ground, Mabel and Dipper looked at the adults with wide eyes.

“That’s _so cool_!” Dipper said.

“I hope Robbie warned everyone,” Mabel said. “That was scary, and I knew it was coming.”

“He did,” Ford confirmed.

Melody looked between Ford and the timer above the control station. “Eighteen hours of this?” she asked.

Ford glanced to the portal, its center swirling white.

“Eighteen hours,” he said.


	13. Chapter 13

Robbie was out warning people about the gravitational anomalies when the first one happened.

He and his mom were out handing out pamphlets, like yesterday but without the Northwests, and trying to get people to listen to them. No one did. Robbie honestly couldn’t blame them — as far as they remembered, they’d never seen anything out of the ordinary, and now a crazy family comes out and claims that the end times are coming. Robbie wouldn’t listen either.

“Good job, Mom,” he said bitterly, as the sun switched from ascending to descending, “your fun little group that keeps people _safe_ has done such a good job that nobody will listen when they’re actually in danger.”

Well, _that_ didn’t go over well. They bickered for a while — usually, Dad was the go between that kept Robbie and Janice from exploding at each other. But he was out with a bunch of other Order members, trying to stop the Pines from getting fuel for their portal. The idea of his own father going up against Mr. Pines freaked Robbie out. What would happen? Who did he want to win?

Eventually, the need to hand out all their pamphlets and spread the word as far as possible overcame Robbie and Janice’s argument. They went back to the drudgery: walking around town, pulling people aside, trying to keep their attention as long as possible as they explained the gravitational anomalies. Word had spread fast — but not about the gravitational anomalies. No, the word that had spread was the Corduroys going crazy.

When the sun had nearly disappeared entirely behind the mountains, Wendy Valentino showed up with a scowl and some hot cocoa. “I’ve decided that you’re crazy,” she declared, holding out a thermos.

“Yeah, well, so has everyone else,” Robbie grumbled. He accepted the thermos but didn’t drink from it. “But I’m not crazy, Wen.”

“That’s what all the crazy people say.”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged a little. “Can’t argue with that. And there’s a chance it might not happen, but I’m pretty sure it’ll happen. Today, probably.”

“What’s ‘it,’ Robs? My little brother told me you were spouting off about gravity going all weird.”

Robbie didn’t ask which little brother. Wendy had three, but she hated talking about anything to do with her family. Robbie was her escape from them; he wasn’t supposed to bring them up. “Well, yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Robbie said. “Gravitational anomalies. Gravity disappearing or changing directions. We have a pamphlet — it’ll explain what you need to do when they start.” He held one out hopefully.

She gave him a cynical, judgmental look. But, to his relief, she took the pamphlet. Probably just to be a good girlfriend. “Thanks, Wen,” he said. He took his first sip of the hot chocolate in his hand. “Oh, that’s really good.”

“Don’t think this means I believe you,” she warned. “Not unless these gravitational animals or whatever actually. . . What was that?”

Robbie felt it too. Suddenly everything was. . . lighter. The soreness in his feet lessened, and it felt like he was about to float away.

He fought down the urge to freak out. “This is it, everyone!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Don’t panic! Stay as still as you can! It should be over soon!”

His admonition to not panic came too late, though — people were already panicking plenty. In feeling weightless, people had thrashed around in alarm, and in null gravity, the smallest movement sent them floating up from the ground.

“Robbie! Robbie, do something!” Wendy was slowly floating upwards too. Robbie wanted to grab her, but what if that sent him flying too? He just had to ride it out. He hoped it’d be over quickly.

Luckily, it was. He felt his weight returning gradually, and people started to gently fall back down, _plop_ ping into the snow. It only took about a minute for gravity to go back to normal. The first gravitational anomaly was over.

 _Now_ people wanted the Corduroys’ pamphlets.

“Stay inside,” Robbie said over and over as he handed them out. “Turn off your heat, your electricity, your water — this will only last eighteen hours, so if you bundle up and get some jugs of water, you’ll be fine. You just have to make it through the night. Get loose things tied down or put somewhere safe. You don’t want anything hitting you during an anomaly. This pamphlet will explain. too. Tell everyone you know how to get through this!”

A lot of people asked the Corduroys why this was happening. Robbie could tell his mom wanted to tell them — maybe she was thinking an angry mob would stop the Pines — but thankfully, she didn’t. Robbie didn’t either. When he wouldn’t explain how he knew about it, people started accusing _him_ of causing the anomalies. “It’s not me,” he said. “I’m just lucky enough to know about them.” That wasn’t really convincing, but people were too freaked out to stay outside a minute longer than they had to, and they didn’t push him. Most of them just took a pamphlet and scurried away.

The pamphlets went quickly, and the street cleared out. “Congratulations,” Wendy said, “you’re not crazy. I’m going to go hide under the covers all night.”

He grabbed her arm before she could leave and pulled her into what he hoped was a comforting hug. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just eighteen hours, mmkay? You can make it. I know you can.”

She gave him an unhappy look and headed off to her house.

Someone grabbed Robbie’s arm. He turned in surprise to see his mom, her eyes wide with fear.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” he asked.

As they’d handed out the pamphlets, he’d noticed her looking worried. He’d thought it was just fear of the anomalies. But now, now that she didn’t have to hide it anymore, he knew it was much worse than that.

“They failed,” she said.

Oh, right. She thought the Pines were going to doom the world. “Mom, it’s okay, really. They’re not going to—”

“No, Robbie!” she snapped. “Don’t you get it? If those anomalies are happening, then the Order couldn’t stop the Pines. Your dad is still out there at the UFO.”

The blood drained from his face. “I-it’s okay,” he repeated. “I’m sure he’s fine. The Pines don’t hurt people. Just stun them.”

“Stun them and leave them outside to freeze?”

Robbie felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter cold.

“We have to go find him,” Mom said.

Robbie didn’t disagree, but after that first anomaly, he did _not_ want to be out in the forest for a second one. “If gravity changes while we’re out there, we could get hurt.” The look Mom gave him was so pained that he hurried to qualify his statement. “You’re right, you’re right, we have to go find him, I’m just saying!”

She took him by the wrist. “Well, you can ‘just say’ on the way to your father. He could be bleeding in the snow, and you just want to stand here arguing.”

That wasn’t fair. Robbie wanted to go make sure Dad was safe, too. He trusted the Pines enough to believe that Dad _wasn’t_ bleeding in the snow, but being unconscious out in the cold wasn’t good either. He wanted to scream at his mom for implying that he didn’t care about his dad.

But the panic on her face was so evident that he knew she didn’t really mean it. She was scared for her husband, and she took it out on Robbie.

 The Corduroys tromped through the snow, Janice leading Robbie to the UFO. He worried that she didn’t know the way, but she seemed to be confident in her directions.

He tried to banish his fears for Dad. The Pines wouldn’t hurt him. He was fine. The Pines were doing what they had to so they could rescue Stanley. Dad was fine. The Corduroys had succeeded in protecting the town, and the first gravitational anomaly hadn’t even been that bad — it was short and gentle, and no one had gotten hurt.

As Robbie hurried through the forest, he could only hope the anomalies would stay that way.

~~~~~

The eighteen hours of gravitational anomalies had begun.

Most people stayed in their homes, following the instructions in the pamphlet and praying for mercy. That Corduroy kid had said eighteen hours, right? With sunset at about four P.M., that meant it would all be over at ten A.M. tomorrow. A lot of people had an early dinner and went straight to bed, hoping they could sleep through it all.

But every time gravity changed, it would send their bodies into free fall and wake them up all over again.

The anomalies spread out around the town and through the forest. Blind Lincoln felt them as he stared at writings on the cave walls. Intriguing. The feeling of the earth’s hold lessening was something he had never felt before, not even in his flying dreams. He could see why Bill would keep him inside — occasionally, gravity would pull up, though gently, and he’d be trapped on the ceiling of the cave for a few minutes at a time.

Back at the Order headquarters, Pacifica was terrified. The anomalies only meant one thing: the Order had failed. The Pines were going to destroy everything! Bill offered little to no help as he ranted about the incompetence of his own cult before declaring that the Pines were asleep and disappearing. With Bill gone, Mabel’s spirit tormented her and mocked her. _You can’t stop me,_ she’d whisper. _I’ve won. I’m finally going to destroy everything. I’m finally going to destroy_ you. Pacifica screamed at the spirit to leave her alone, throwing things across her room only for them to pass right through Mabel’s ghostly body. Nothing worked. Mabel never left. Eventually, Pacifica curled up on her bed, feeling so alone as she endured Mabel’s gloating. If only Gideon were here, she found herself thinking. He’d tell her that she was being stupid. She wished she could hear him say that.

But Gideon was locked in his room, thinking up escape plans. The anomalies helped with the pain from his punishment — when gravity lessened or disappeared, the natural pressure on his wounds diminished as well. But unlike gravity, the pain never truly went away.

Robbie and Janice found Greg and the other Order members at the UFO at about the time they started waking up — at least, those who had been stunned. So many others had been wounded. Robbie felt sick. The conscious Order members explained about the minotaurs, so at least the Pines hadn’t hurt anyone directly, but they’d still condoned injury.

Greg was a little out of sorts when he awoke, but he told Janice about his conversation with Stanford.She shuddered at the man’s deceptions, though a part of her — a small part — forgave Robbie for falling for it: Stanford sounded quite effective in his lies. Janice was just figuring out how to get her husband up the ladder in this state when Robbie called down and told her about the minotaurs. Apparently they’d come back to help. Hot anger coursed through Janice — How dare the Pines use the creatures of the forest for their plans! — but after a minute she had to admit she needed help. The minotaurs came down the ladder and carried Order members back up, offering to take them home as well. Janice hesitated, but Robbie thought that was a great idea. “After all,” he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice, “aren’t you people just going to wipe these eighteen hours from everyone’s heads anyway?”

As the minotaurs helped the discombobulated Order members home, the Pines shut down the house. After treating Ford’s injuries, Melody made an early dinner — cold, since they had to turn the electricity off. The twins came in after Dipper told Mabel about his day and showed her all his pictures, and the family ate together. Well, ate as best they could — a gravitational anomaly kicked in halfway through the meal, and attempting to eat in reduced gravity sent food flying around the kitchen. To make matters worse, a slash gee then started pulling towards the wall, splattering the food sideways and sending the Pines that direction as well.

Nobody ended up eating as much as Melody had hoped they would. The prospect of sleep wasn’t much better, either — with the electricity and heating off, it was _freezing_. Melody grabbed extra blankets for everyone. Then she helped Ford to his room and strapped him to his bed at his request, to keep him in place. She offered to do the same for the twins. Dipper declined — he was upset that he’d have to _sleep_ through the “most awesome weirdness ever” — but Mabel agreed. So Melody helped tie her down, too, feeling monstrous for restraining her friends to their beds. Mabel whispering, “Thanks, Melody,” helped, though.

Once everyone was settled, Melody kissed the twins on the foreheads and rubbed Waddles’ ears — Dipper was clutching his pet to him so that the pig wouldn’t go flying around the room during the night — before going back downstairs. Almost immediately, she could hear moaning from the gift shop, and her heart fell into her shoes. The Order members. How had they forgotten about the Order members?

She took a deep breath, entered the gift shop, and explained to the bound cultists what would be happening for the next eighteen hours, making a herculean effort to be polite. These people had attacked her just hours before, after all. But she made no mention of that as she explained their choices: She could let them go, and they’d have to make it to their homes by themselves in the midst of the gravitational anomalies, or she could leave them tied up and shoot them again. “If you choose the first option, you would need to leave,” Melody said. “I would need to watch you walk away.” On the one hand, she wanted them gone. She doubted she’d be able to sleep at all if she knew these people were tied up in the gift shop. But on the other hand, could she really condemn seven people to be outside during these anomalies, if only for a few minutes?

The captured Order members made her decision for her. They wanted to be home with their families — they were terrified. Melody’s heart throbbed as she saw just how much fear the Pines were causing with the portal. She tried to explain that they weren’t destroying anything, but the Order members didn’t trust her. They just kept pleading to be released.

“All right,” Melody said. “But if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll have to shoot you again. We changed the passcode on vending machine, so don’t think you can get down there, either.” She hated being so blunt and cold with people who were obviously scared, but she had to protect Ford and the twins. She kept seeing an awful situation where the Order members dragged Ford from his bed and forced him to let them into the basement.

The Order members agreed with her hurriedly. “We just want to go home,” a woman whispered. “My kids must be terrified.”

Melody untied her first.

She saw the Order members out the door, holding tightly to the doorjamb in case a gravitational anomaly went off. _Please stay normal,_ she silently pleaded with gravity. _At least until these people get home._

When the Order members were out of sight, Melody breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door, locking up the house again. Then she left the gift shop and went into the kitchen.

Food was everywhere.

Splattered on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling — when the Pines had tried to lift their utensils in less than one gee, the force of the movement had sent their food all over.

Melody stared around the kitchen at the mess. _You had better be worth it, Stanley_ , she found herself thinking. _We’re going through so much for you._

She had to clean up. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. She just stood there in the doorway, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness washing over her.

Melody sank to the ground and started to cry.

She wasn’t the only one crying that night. Pacifica, sobbing in fear as Mabel’s spirit tormented her; Gideon, lying in the darkness, wishing desperately he could confess what he knew to the Pines; the Order members, believing that everything they knew would be overturned and destroyed; and the rest of the community, confused, desperately wondering how this was happening and what they did to deserve this.

Through all this, gravity continued to fluctuate, heedless of the fear and panic that swept through the town of Gravity Rises.


	14. Chapter 14

Mabel doubted she’d get much sleep, what with gravity changing so much. And she didn’t.

Every time an anomaly went off, her body thought it was falling to its death. It was like hypnic jerking, where Mabel’s body would suddenly feel like it was falling and wake her up. Except this time, it wasn’t a hallucination. She really was falling as gravity changed directions.

Luckily, she was strapped to the bed, so she didn’t actually fall. But she’d still wake up. And waking up feeling like you were dangling from the ceiling was terrifying. Mabel’s sheets bunched as she clutched at them, wondering if or when her straps would break and send her falling across the room.

Dipper wasn’t strapped down. Mabel thought he was crazy. Plus, it wasn’t exactly fair to her — what if he fell sideways in the middle of the night and ran into her? But he seemed to love the anomalies, and he had far more energy than anyone should be allowed to have, especially at this time of night. “It’s only, like, seven, Mabes,” he’d remind her when she mentioned it. “I can’t sleep now! I probably won’t be able to all night.”

“You’d better be silent,” she threatened, “because I’m actually _trying_ to sleep. We have to be alert tomorrow!”

He tried to be quiet, thankfully, and her exhaustion finally overcame what sound he did make. The fear she’d felt when they’d sent Dipper and Ford off to the UFO, the terror of the Order attack, the panic she felt every time gravity changed — it all combined into a mass of fatigue, pulling her under consciousness into sleep. A very interrupted sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

It was the middle of the night when she’d finally been asleep long enough to dream.

She was down in the Order headquarters, being forced to clean a room full of pipes and other equipment by Pacifica, who shrieked at her that she was doing it wrong. Every time Mabel would clean off a little bit of rust, it would reappear, completely nullifying her progress. She just kept scrubbing at the metal. . . .

“How **tedious**.”

Mabel turned as Bill Cipher appeared in the center of three pipes that formed a triangular shape. Her heart raced. “G-go away.”

“Your **dreams** have gotten rather **boring** lately,” he commented, ignoring her words.

The statement pulled Mabel into lucidity. “My dreams aren’t for your entertainment!” she snapped.

Bill floated closer to her. “ **Oh** , but they’ve been **so** very **amusing** ever since I **possessed** you.”

The dream version of Pacifica stalked over to scream at Mabel, but she just waved a hand to make her disappear. If only she was always lucid in her dreams and could do things like that in all her nightmares!

“Is that why you’re here?” Mabel demanded of Bill once Pacifica was gone. “To complain about the entertainment value of my dreams?”

“ **No** ,” Bill said.  “I **thought** I’d come tell you about the **fear** and **panic** you’re **causing**.”

It didn’t take her long to realize what he was talking about. “Robbie warned everybody.”

Bill gave a short laugh. “You think **anybody** **listened** to him? **Everyone** thought he was **crazy**! Until the **first anomaly**. **That** made them believe him.”

“So now they know. Everyone’s safe.”

“You don’t **truly** **believe** that,” Bill said. “ **You’re** scared of the **anomalies**. And **you’ve** been mentally preparing for **days**. How do you think **everybody else** feels, **huh**?”

A surge of guilt forced its way through Mabel’s body. “We h-have to save Stan.”

“ **Do** you? You don’t **know** him. **Sixer** doesn’t even know him, not after **thirty years**.”

A wave of anger replaced the guilt. “Yes, we do have to!” she shouted. “Ford deserves to see his brother again — and the fact that _you_ want to stop it so bad is further proof that we’re doing the right thing!”

Bill just stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re so **naïve** , **Pine Tree**. Do you **really think** the world is **that** black-and-white? **That** clear-cut?”

“ _You’re_ that clear-cut,” Mabel shot back.

“But **you’re** not,” Bill said. “Not if you’re willing to **hurt** people to open the **portal**.”

Mabel suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. He was right. She was doing bad things. For good reasons, but. . .

“Not a good **realization** , hmm?” Bill asked. “You’re **just** as bad as you think the **Order** is. **They’re** just doing what **they** think is the right thing, **too**.”

“Th-that’s why we haven’t hurt them.” Mabel barely forced the words out through her shame. “The d-difference is that they’re wr-wrong.”

“You don’t **sound** so **sure** ,” Bill replied. “ **How** can you know? You **think** they’re **wrong** , but what if **you’re** wrong? What if they’re **right**?”

He spoke aloud the fear that had been building in her for days. Her voice was thick as she said, “G-get out, Bill.”

“Everyone’s **terrified** , **Pine Tree**. And **you’re** responsible. Even if you **do** rescue **Stanley** , is that enough to **wipe** the **stain** of your **guilt**?”

 _Don’t listen, Mabel **,**_ she told herself. _He’s just trying to bait you. He’s just scared himself!_

But his words bored through her defenses and filled her with shame. Was this really worth it? Causing all this pain on the chance that they _might_ save Stan?

“Here comes another **anomaly** ,” Bill said. “Have **fun** waking up in a **panic**. And when you **do** , remember **how many** people are feeling that **same fear**. Because of **you**.”

Then a slash gee started pulling Mabel’s body sideways to the nearest wall, and she awoke with a startled yell.

“Watch out, Mabes!”

She’d been kept in place by her straps, but she turned her head to see Dipper falling across the room.

Right on top of her.

He was falling slowly — the slash gee wasn’t too strong — but in the darkness it still looked and felt like he was coming from above her on a terrifying crash collision course. In his arms, Waddles squealed in terror, and the sound destroyed any hope Mabel had at being calm. Rationality fled her, and she curled up in a ball, held up only by the strap surrounding her. The bed was a wall, now, and the wall was the ground, and she was suspended just inches above it.

Dipper ran into her.

It didn’t hurt, but she still cried out. Her arms found Dipper and clung to him, shoving Waddles out of the way. Her twin’s weight settled onto her, and the strap, which kept them off the new floor, began to dig into Mabel’s side. Had the slash gee been pulling at normal gravitational strength, Mabel was convinced the strap would break.

Dipper moved around Mabel so that he settled himself and his pig on the wall rather than putting all his weight on his twin. He didn’t let go of her completely, though — for the which she was grateful.

The anomaly ended, and gravity reverted to normal in a dizzying rotation. Dipper landed on the bed between Mabel and the wall, and they just lay there for a minute, clinging to each other and shaking. At least, Mabel was shaking.

“It’s okay, Mabes,” Dipper whispered. “This whole thing is about halfway over. We’ve made it this far. We can make it the rest of the way.”

She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure with what she was disagreeing. “We’re causing so much pain, Dip.”

“Robbie spread the word. People should be keeping themselves safe.”

“I meant emotionally.” The words slipped from her mouth, barely audible. Now that the terror of the anomaly was over, her dream came to the forefront of her mind. “E-even if everybody comes out of this okay, they’re — they’re so scared. . . .”

Dipper held her close. “Did Bill visit you too?” he asked.

Mabel paused. So Bill had talked to Dipper tonight as well? “Y-yeah,” she answered.

“And he tried to guilt you about all this?”

Mabel pulled away a bit. “I am guilty! We all are!”

“He’s trying to make us doubt ourselves,” said Dipper, “and we can’t listen. We have to see this all the way through.” He rested his forehead on hers. “We’re so close.”

Another anomaly began, and gravity disappeared. Dipper hugged Mabel tightly — but gently, carefully — before picking up Waddles and pushing himself off the bed to float back over to his side of the room. “Go back to sleep, Mabes,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Mabel didn’t believe him.

She floated there in zero gee, trying to clear her mind of the guilt that pulled at her thoughts. The loss of gravity helped — no gravity at all was much better than mutated gravity. It allowed Mabel to close her eyes and imagine that she was out in space, surrounded by twinkling stars. She still felt like she was falling, but now she was falling in all directions, and she could orient herself normally, with the ceiling up and the floor down.

It still caused her an instinctive panic, though, and that panic just reminded her of what Bill had said. That everybody was freaking out, all over town. Every time gravity lessened or disappeared or changed directions, it sent the entire town into a frenzy and made it impossible to sleep through the night.

And it was Mabel’s fault.

Tears squeezed from her eyes, but without gravity, they stayed clinging to her corneas, making her eyeballs itch. She blinked them away.

How was she going to get any sleep tonight? How was anyone going to sleep? How could she ever be forgiven for this? Bill was right. Nothing would exonerate her from the hurt her family was causing. Maybe the Order was right to try to stop them.

Mabel’s mind stayed stuck on that never-ending loop of shame. Gravity reappeared and disappeared again, over and over, as she condemned herself for the community-wide fear brought on by the anomalies. She had no idea how long she lay there — she may have fallen asleep, she didn’t know — before she felt trapped by her restraints and, strangely, hot in her blankets. The night was cold, especially with the heating off, but Mabel suddenly felt too warm to stay in bed a moment longer. She tugged at her restraints, trying to get them _off_ , but it was hard from this angle. Not impossible, thankfully, but harder than her frazzled mind could take.

Finally, she was free. She got to her feet, breathing heavily, and left the room before she even realized how cold she was. It wasn’t until halfway down the stairs that the freezing winter temperatures seeped through her skin. Mabel shivered.

She didn’t know where she was going. She wasn’t thinking. She hardly even noticed Melody, who was flopped over on the couch, breathing deeply in an exhausted sleep. No, Mabel just kept moving, hardly aware of anything, until she found herself outside of Ford’s room.

She reached for the knob. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking, except that, somehow, Ford could help her. Ford could make it better. Ford had dealt with Bill before, and he could tell his niece that it was okay, that they weren’t evil, that Bill was wrong.

Right?

The door creaked slightly as it opened. The sound of Ford’s light snoring filled the room, and Mabel felt another surge of guilt. Was she really going to wake up her uncle, who clearly needed his sleep after his expedition to Crash Site Omega, just so he could comfort her? What kind of selfish move was that?

She stood there for a long time, shivering in the cold, agonizing over what to do. Eventually, though, a gravitational anomaly made the decision for her: The floor became a slope, descending down from the door. Mabel didn’t move except to dig her heels in, but she felt her weight shift as gravity changed, and she heard Ford jerk against his bed in the darkness. The snoring stopped.

He was awake.

At least, Mabel really hoped so. “Grunkle Ford?” she whispered.

He jerked again, his body rustling the covers and thumping against the mattress. “Who’s there?”

“I-it’s me. M-Mabel.”

Silence. Ford breathed in through his nose, as if he were trying to focus his thoughts, then spoke on the exhale. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I. . .” She hesitated. “Can I. . . can I st-stay with you?”

A longer silence. “What happened, Mabel?”

Well, he didn’t say yes, but he certainly didn’t say no, either. Mabel crossed the room to his bed, careful in the diagonal gravity, and climbed up next to him. As gravity reverted to normal, she curled up by Ford’s side, not answering his question. She wasn’t sure she could answer his question, at least not without sobbing all over him. She was tired, she was panicked, and she was weighed down by her guilt.

But then Ford’s hand touched her back, rubbed her shoulders, and she found herself spilling everything.

“Bill visited me,” she said. As she suspected, tears choked her almost immediately, making it hard to speak. “He said. . . he told me what was happening in the town. How scared everybody is. W-we did this, Grunkle Ford. We turned on the portal, we made gravity go crazy, we. . . If anybody gets hurt tonight, it’s our fault.”

Ford was quiet for a long moment. “Yes,” he said.

The word washed over Mabel, and her breath hitched. He didn’t do anything — all he said was agree with her fears. But that simple affirmation, the knowledge that it wasn’t just her who knew this, made everything seem a little better.

But. . . “You knew?” she asked. “You knew what would happen tonight?”

“I knew what happened last time,” Ford replied. “I knew people would panic, yes.”

“A-and you still did it?”

Ford breathed in sharply. “Of course I did,” he said. “It’s to save Stanley.”

“I know, but — but don’t you feel guilty?”

Another pause. “Yes, I do,” Ford said, his already-quiet voice now a breath in the darkness. “But I can’t let it stop me, especially not now that it’s almost over. I made a decision, knowing what it would cause. And I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Mabel fell quiet, thinking this over. She was glad he was taking responsibility, but. . . it wasn’t fair to rope Melody or Dipper or _her_ into that responsibility.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Ford continued, “Key word _I’ll_. This is my responsibility. Not yours. You don’t need to feel guilty over this.”

Mabel curled up tighter against him. “But I let it happen. I _helped_. It’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”

Ford didn’t respond for a long moment. Then his hand squeezed her shoulder. “You must be freezing,” he said.

Mabel didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but he wasn’t wrong. She nodded, her head rubbing against his chest.

“Do you want to get under the covers?”

Oh, she did. She wanted to be warm, she wanted to be safe, she wanted to pass the night in Ford’s arms —

“Is there room for me?” she asked.

“Should be. See if you can undo my restraints. I think they can fit two.”

She found the end of the strap and undid it, finding the task much easier from this angle. Then, at Ford’s direction, she climbed under the covers on the opposite side, getting situated as he redid the restraints. She didn’t have a pillow, so she lay her head on Ford’s chest, just above the strap. It wasn’t nearly as tight as it had been upstairs, since Ford was larger than she, but for the moment she didn’t care.

Ford put his arm around her, holding her close. “You’re not responsible for my actions, Mabel,” he said softly. “But I am thankful for your help.”

Another pang of guilt hit Mabel, but this time it wasn’t as forceful. This time, she had her great uncle to protect her.

“Now, try to sleep, okay?”

What seemed impossible earlier now felt easy and natural. Now, Mabel had thick blankets and Ford’s body heat to keep her warm. Now, she could put her thoughts to rest and fall asleep.

So she did.


	15. Chapter 15

“Mabel.”

She moaned, curling up tighter.

“Mabel, it’s morning.”

Mabel slowly opened her eyes, blinking groggily in the pre-dawn light that reached through the window. “It’s still dark,” she mumbled.

“The sun rises late here. It’s almost eight A.M.”

She paused as this revelation struggled to get through. How could it be eight? She was still tired. It felt more like midnight.

“We didn’t get much sleep last night.” That was Ford, her mind realized. Ford was speaking. Ford was lying next to her. What was she doing in the same bed as Ford? “But we only have two hours left before the portal opens. We have to get down there.”

Mabel’s eyes flew open.

It all came rushing back. The portal — the anomalies — how she crawled into bed with Ford last night.

Ford undid the restraints and gently moved Mabel off of his chest. She buried her head under the blankets, not ready to get up yet, as Ford sat up and stretched and moaned in pain. He muttered something like, “I need Melody,” and stood up, his joints cracking. Mabel could hear him moving around the room, probably getting dressed, but she tuned out the sounds and kept the covers over her head.

“Mabel.”

She started. Had she fallen asleep again? She pushed herself up and turned bleary eyes on Ford.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a red turtleneck and his signature trenchcoat. “I’m going out to find Melody. Come out soon, okay? We all need to go down to the basement together, because I’m the only one that knows the code.” Mabel gave some kind of moan in agreement. Right then, she only cared about doing what she had to so that Ford would go away and leave her alone to sleep.

Ford left, and Mabel flopped back down onto the bed, stealing Ford’s pillow for her own use. It smelled like old person — the whole room did, really — but she didn’t care, even as she buried her face into it. She lay there for a long time, breathing deeply, trying to go back to sleep.

But she was already too awake, and her body was too fed up with the anomalies to fall asleep again. Eventually, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Didn’t Ford say they all needed to go downstairs together? Were they going to leave her?

She stood up with a yawn and padded out of the room.

When she reached the end of the hallway, she saw Melody treating Ford in the kitchen. Ford sat on the counter with his shirt off, revealing flabby old man skin wrapped in bandages, which Melody changed, rubbing ointment around his wounds. Mabel cringed instinctively when she saw her uncle shirtless — it wasn’t gross, per say, it was just _weird_.

. . . And kinda gross.

“There you are, Mabes!” Dipper came pounding down the stairs behind her. “You worried me! Where’d you go last night?”

“Um,” she said, her brain too tired to form eloquent thought. “I crawled in bed with Ford.”

As she said it aloud, her cheeks began to heat up in embarrassment. Oh no. She’d crawled in bed with Ford. Like a terrified, needy child. There went any chance of him taking _her_ seriously!

“Kids,” Melody called, “come in here and grab some breakfast. The milk should be still cold enough for cereal — though it also might be frozen.”

Her words reminded Mabel of how cold it was. Dipper had a sweater on over his pajamas, and suddenly that seemed like the best idea in the world. She told her family she’d be right back and ran up the stairs, grabbing her orange hoodie. There wasn’t time to change out of her pajamas, so she just threw it on and zipped it up.

When she got back down to the kitchen, Dipper was struggling to pour milk through the chunks of ice in the carton — apparently the temperature had dropped below freezing last night. The thought only made Mabel more cold. She skipped the milk and poured herself a bowl of dry cereal, eating it with her fingers. It was better than nothing.

As the twins ate, Ford got more and more irate. “Hurry, Melody, we have to get down there,” he would say over and over. “If I’d known how long this would take, I would’ve just gone downstairs without you!”

“And worked on the portal through all that pain?” Melody replied. “With all those anomalies making things harder? Sometimes, Ford, you have to spend time taking care of yourself so you can have the energy to take care of other people.”

Mabel found herself nodding along to this statement — though she had yet to get to the _taking care of other people_ part, herself. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the cleanliness of the kitchen. It had been a _mess_ when they’d gone to bed last night. Had Melody stayed up and cleaned it? Did she really have that much energy to take care of others, that she could stay up half the night cleaning and still deal with a grumpy Ford in the morning?

With a sigh, Mabel picked at her cereal, trying not to feel bad that she couldn’t do the same. _You’re helping,_ she reminded herself. _You’re helping rescue Stanley._

A few gravitational anomalies came and went in the time it took Melody to finish with Ford. By then, the twins had finished their cereal and were sitting on the couch, waiting. Eventually, the adults joined them, a sour expression twisting Ford’s features. “Are you _done_ with me, then, Ramirez?”

“Not until you keel over and die,” said Melody cheerfully.

Ford grumbled something about Melody _causing_ said death by wasting time. Melody, in turn, rolled her eyes as her charge stalked off to the Employees Only door. “Come on,” Ford called over his shoulder. “We only have ninety minutes left.”

The Pines went through the vending machine and down to the elevator. Mabel clung to Dipper’s hand the entire ride down — she’d heard way too many elevator horror stories to feel safe on one during these anomalies. But thankfully, they made it down to the basement sans-anomaly. Mabel let out of breath of relief as the doors slid open.

But that breath caught in her throat as she saw what lay on the other side.

The cheerful hum that Mabel had grown accustomed to over the week had changed to a determined rumble. Decades-old machinery rattled under the strain of power, adding a quiet clamor of metallic motion to the rumbling of the portal. And the portal! There were no lights on down here, because between the light from the portal and the fuel tanks, the basement was lit perfectly well. The portal’s white florescence streamed through the observation window, casting strange, stark shadows around the room. A thin stream of color swirled around the white mass in the center of the triangular machine. Mabel stood and stared at it for a moment. It was captivating.

Ford bustled around the room, though his movements were slowed somewhat by his injuries. Melody followed, harping on her charge to be careful lest he rupture something. The twins stayed near the back of the room, holding hands, taken in by the painfully bright, beautiful display of the portal.

“Woah,” said Dipper.

Mabel didn’t have anything to add. That pretty much summed it up perfectly.

For the next hour, they worked on the portal — though _they_ was more like _Ford barking orders and then just doing all the work himself._ Mabel had no idea what most of his instructions meant, much less _why_ he was giving them, and he had little to no patience in waiting for her to figure it out. Her, Dipper’s, and Melody’s tasks were reduced to, “Hold this in that exact spot and don’t let it move,” “Stand over there and press the button when I tell you to,” and “Read to me what the Journal says about this.” Mabel didn’t mind — she’d rather be told exactly what to do than be given a large task that she then messed up. Still, following instructions was hard when normal gravity was on vacation. It wasn’t long before the gravitational anomalies messed things up, which led to Ford blaming _her_ for messing them up, and Mabel became sick of the entire thing. She was so ready for the portal to open and this whole thing to be done with.

Her eyes kept straying to the countdown above the control station as it ticked down the seconds. It was both painful and exhilarating. She would look up, see that there were only forty-five minutes left, and feel a rush of both excitement that it was so close and despair that it was so far.

Finally — just in time — too soon — Ford finished the last of his work on the control panel. He pushed back in his chair to look at the screen overhead — ten minutes — and stood up. “Okay, that’ll have to do it — everyone in the portal chamber!”

Mabel thought this meant they were done working, but apparently there were problems to solve inside the cavernous chamber as well. Ford went over to _another_ station to the right of the door and messed with _more_ controls; once again his companions stood uselessly to the side as he worked. There was another timer inside the portal room, and Mabel found her eyes glued to it. **00:09:30. 00:09:29. 00:09:28.** The seconds felt like minutes and microseconds all at the same time.

A zero-gee anomaly kicked in at **00:09:04** , halting Ford’s work as an unsuspecting movement sent him drifting gently across the room. “Melody, help me get back!” Panic leaked through his gruff voice.

Melody pushed off the ground to try to help him, but the effort was awkward and inefficient. Ford kept barking annoyed orders at Melody, trying to tell her how to help him _better_ , shouting at her not to move _that_ way or she’d send them both flying away from their destination. All the while, Mabel and Dipper stood clutching hands, determined not to move at all.

The adults had almost made it back to the secondary control station when the anomaly ended. Ford shook Melody off him as they landed and went right back to his work. Not even a ‘thanks.’

Mabel glanced up to the timer, simultaneously terrified that the anomaly had wasted time and hopeful that it had done just that. **00:07:46** , it read. Mabel moaned.

Next to her, Dipper shook her arm. “Just seven minutes, Mabes!” he said excitedly.

Her eyes peeled on the timer, Mabel watched as the seconds ticked by. It felt like an eternity. Just as **00:03:00** blessedly turned to **00:02:59** , Ford typed something in and hit the **Enter** key with a loud _click_. Mabel jumped at the loud, hissing mechanics that responded to Ford’s command: In the center of the room, the top of the control switch opened to reveal a red button.

“The confirmation,” Ford said shortly; he turned and started walking toward it. “I had Fidds build it in. It’s a failsafe, but backwards — in case the portal accidentally turned on, and the anomalies were too strong to turn it off in time, it would automatically shut down. Unless we pressed this button and confirmed that, in fact, opening the portal was what we wanted to do.”

“Opening the portal is definitely what we want to do!” With this declaration, Dipper grinned at Mabel, who smiled nervously back.

Ford reached out to press the button.

And gravity pulled him backwards.

Mabel let out a small scream as she and Dipper tumbled to the wall. Ford landed a few yards away with a dull _thud_ — he fell farther than the twins, and this sideways gravity was at least half a gee. Melody had pulled herself onto the side of the control station, Mabel found as she looked for the caretaker, and from this perspective it was as if she were high above the twins.

Dipper tugged on her arm and pointed up. “Woah, Mabes, look.” Mabel followed his finger with her gaze — but immediately regretted it.

From this angle, the portal was above them. It looked like it would fall on top of them at any moment. The scorching white, cracked through with rifts of color, seemed to descend upon them. As if it would swallow them up at any moment.

“Ford! Are you okay?” Melody called down. Or, sideways? Mabel’s orientation was completely lost at this point. All she knew was the terrifying white abyss that loomed above her.

“Yes,” he called back. He walked down the wall to the floor and attempted to climb it, to get back up to the button. “But we have to hurry — if we don’t press the button before the timer runs out, this whole thing will shut down.”

Against her will, Mabel found her eyes drawn to the timer. It was sideways now, but she could still read it just fine: **00:01:52**. What! Hadn’t it just said three minutes?! How long had she lay there on the wall, stunned by the anomaly?

Dipper tugged her hand with his, turning her attention to Ford’s climbing efforts. The Author found plenty of handholds in the rough stone floor, and Mabel held her breath as he pulled himself up. “Be careful!” Melody yelled. “If you fall—”

“It’s only half strength, I’ll be fine!”

But Melody could see better from her vantage point than Ford could. Her strangled gasp traveled to Mabel’s ears through the roar of the portal. “Ford, wait! Move out of the—”

Her admonition cut off in a cry of fear as a section of loose pipe fell on top of Ford, shoving him down into open air. He scrambled for new handholds, but it was too late — the pipe steadily pushed him down back to where he started.

“Ford!”

“I’m fine! But we have to get to that button!”

**00:01:34. 00:01:33.**

Ford’s attempt to get to the button had only lasted twenty seconds before it was thwarted. Dipper immediately began to climb up to the lever, but Mabel was frozen. Her eyes tore between the timer — **00:01:31, 00:01:30** — and the portal above. She thought she heard her family yelling to each other, but she couldn’t make out words. She could only make out the terrible rumble of the interdimensional portal.

Then, at **00:01:17** , gravity disappeared entirely.

Mabel froze, doing her best not to move a muscle. It was extremely hard — what had seemed like the floor was suddenly a wall again, and Mabel was standing on it. Her instinct was to panic, to flail about. She had nothing to grab onto. It felt like she was falling, even though she wasn’t moving. It was nauseating. Mabel forced herself to stay still, though. She couldn’t move away from this wall and be stranded in mid-air.

She looked around the room as best she could without moving her head too much. When gravity had disappeared, Ford had immediately pushed away from the wall toward the button. But his push hadn’t been strong enough — he was weak from yesterday's fall — and now he was floating in the middle of the room, desperately trying to propel himself through the air. Dipper was marooned as well; the force of his climb had sent him floating up from the floor. Mabel couldn’t see Melody; she assumed the caretaker was still next to the control station, which was behind Mabel’s head.

Ford let out a frustrated scream as he futilely swam in null gravity. Dipper was in no position to help, either. “No!” shouted Ford over the ever-increasing roar of the portal. “Stay there, Melody! If we strand ourselves in null gravity, we’ll never get there!”

Mabel still couldn’t see Melody, but she couldn’t imagine why the woman would want to leave her safe place. At least _she_ had something to hold onto. Mabel had nothing. And since she was still standing on the wall, it was ever too easy to imagine the portal bearing down on her again. . . .

At **00:01:00** , the blinding white light faded into a soft black, dotted with star-like bits of light. The streaks of color became an ouroboric circle, rotating around the portal at dizzying speeds. This mesmerized Mabel as much or more than the white disc had, and it took her a good ten seconds to realize someone was calling to her.

“Mabel!” It was Ford. “Mabel, I need you to push off that wall and get to the button! Head to Dipper, and he’ll push you the right way!”

Mabel stared at him in horror. The lighting was poor, now that the portal had opened up into space, and Ford was eerily silhouetted in the two columns of light on either side of the room. Mabel said something in reply, but her voice was so small, and the portal so loud, that even she couldn’t hear herself.

Ford continued to urge her. “You’re our best chance! Please, Mabel!”

“It’ll be okay, Mabes!” This from Dipper, who floated in the center of the portal — at least from Mabel’s perspective. “I’ll catch you! Just come to me!”

Her panicked eyes flitted from the portal, to her brother, to the timer — **00:00:46**. Her mind was still struggling to wrap itself around the last two minutes. Everything had happened so fast! Ford had been about to press the button — a button that, three minutes ago, Mabel hadn’t even known _existed_ — but then the anomalies caused by his own portal stopped him. Too fast this was happening too fast she couldn’t—

“ _Mabel! Please!_ ” cried Ford.

She couldn’t do this she had to do this but what if she couldn’t what if she failed she _couldn’t do this—_

“For Stanley!” added Dipper.

His voice cut through her panic, helped her refocus. Mabel swallowed the rising contents of her stomach, took aim for Dipper, and pushed off the wall with all her strength.

The room seemed to rotate as quickly as the colors around the portal. Mabel wasn’t actually rotating — but her perspective was. By the time she ran into Dipper — her hands clutched at his hair, at his shirt, at anything they could find — she was thoroughly discombobulated.

“Mabel! It’s okay, I’m here! I’m going to push you to the button, okay?”

Dipper’s words helped her scrambling mind orient itself. Right, the button, he was going to push her to the button. The button that they had to press to open the portal. Right. She nodded, doing her best to turn and face the center of the room.

“Mabel!” The yell came from across the room, but Mabel didn’t dare turn her head, didn’t dare look anywhere but her destination. “Mabel, the button is down!”

 _The button is down._ Mabel’s frayed mind latched onto Ford’s words, and she forced herself to imagine that the failsafe button was beneath her, that she’d be falling on top of it. This idea — that she was falling, which was much easier than flying or walking — this idea calmed her somewhat, made her task seem more attainable.

**00:00:28. 00:00:27.**

Dipper pushed.

Once again, Mabel was flying through the room. No — not flying — falling. The button was down. She was falling to it. The perspective made her panic a little — falling wasn’t usually a good thing — but the pace was slow enough that she didn’t feel like she was in danger.

Until she stopped falling.

Mabel slowed in the air, then came to a full stop. Gravity was still gone — the anomaly probably wasn’t going to end anytime soon. They only had — Mabel checked the timer, her stomach churning — twenty-four seconds left.

And the Pines were all stranded in mid-air.

Mabel strained for the control switch. She could make it! It was only a few feet away! But she had no momentum, nothing from which to push off. She was stuck with only the air as a propellent.

**00:00:20. 00:00:19.**

Mabel kept reaching out, kept trying to reach the button, but her heart filled with despair even as she did so. No — no, they’d come so far — they couldn’t be defeated by a _stupid gravitational_ —

“Mabel!”

She turned her head to see Melody careening through the air toward her. The housekeeper had a lot of momentum — she must have pushed really hard off the control station. Melody was coming from an angle, so she wouldn’t push Mabel straight to the button. But maybe they could push off each other. Mabel’s hopes lifted.

Melody crashed into Mabel, albeit at slow speeds, and they needed a few seconds to reorient themselves after that small but jarring impact. Then Melody turned Mabel to face the button. “Push off me!”

They gently travelled through the air, after Melody transferred some of her momentum to Mabel. And now Mabel had to change that momentum to a different direction and somehow reach the button — plus, they were rotating slightly, and _that_ didn’t make it any easier.

**00:00:10. 00:00:09.**

Mabel took a deep breath, reminded herself that the button was beneath her, and pushed off of Melody.

This time, she had enough momentum to make it.

She latched onto the metal lever that hosted the button. The sudden stop rubbed the metal painfully against her hands, but she wouldn’t — couldn’t — let go. She wrapped her arms and legs around the lever to anchor herself before reaching up for the button.

**00:00:07. 00:00:06.**

And then gravity returned.

Pulling up.

Mabel clutched the lever as her world turned upside down. The blood rushed to her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to imagine her situation. She was hanging upside down on a stick of metal — the only thing keeping her from careening to the ceiling.

**00:00:05. 00:00:04.**

She was vaguely aware of her family yelling to her, but she shut that out. There was nothing but the button. She had to press the button.

She reached out — up? down? — and once again swallowed back her nausea. The negative gee wasn’t pulling too strongly, but that didn’t make it any better for Mabel. She was still hanging upside down, headfirst, reaching over her head to hit this awful button. The portal roared in her ears, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes averted from that beautiful, terrible, starry expanse.

**00:00:02. 00:00:01.**

Mabel slammed her hand onto the button.

**00:00:00.**

The world went white.

~

~

~

~

~

Mabel opened her eyes.

When had she closed them?

She found herself floating in mid-air at the edge of the portal chamber.

When had she let go of the lever?

She gazed around the room, finding her family hovering in zero gee in various places, looking as dazed as she felt. Melody, across the room. Dipper, floating a bit above Mabel and to her right, his face split into a shaky grin. Ford, near the center of the chamber, his eyes riveted on the far wall.

Mabel followed her uncle’s gaze and found herself staring at the interdimensional portal.

The portal’s roar had died back to a hum, and various shades of blue and white drifted around its nexus. Where the rainbow colors had been harsh and demanding, these were calm and soothing. They gently enveloped Mabel’s confusion in a languid peace.

As Mabel watched, a dark shape appeared in the center of the swirling white abyss. A human figure gradually grew more defined as he exited the portal.

The peace in Mabel’s mind dissipated, replaced by excitement and exhausted joy as she realized what that shape meant. They’d. . . they’d done it! _They’d done it!_ That must be Stanley! They’d opened the portal, and Ford’s brother was finally coming —

The man’s visage became fully visible, and Mabel’s mind came to a screeching halt.

. . . Who was _that_?

The room fell into a hushed silence as gravity slowly turned back on. The man fell gently to the ground, his bare feet landing firmly on the floor. He swayed a bit, but otherwise stayed standing. Mabel hardly even noticed her own feet touch the floor. She was too busy staring at the man.

Was that Stanley? He didn’t look like Stanley. Hadn’t Shifty shown them what Stanley might look like now?

This man looked nothing like that.

He didn’t even look at all related to Ford.

Their faces were too different, with dissimilar shapes and proportions and spacing of their features. Where Ford’s hair had turned a dull silver with age, this man had gone completely white. His long beard trailed down from his chin, though the top of his head was bald. The liver-spotted skin gleamed in the light from the portal. He stood hunched over, the tip of his white beard brushing the floor, in a posture that was both creepy and a little disturbing.

But his eyes. . . his eyes disturbed Mabel the most.

They pointed different directions.

Mabel broke away from the mesmerizing effect of his strange eyes to look desperately around the room. Was she the only one seeing this? Where was Stanley? Maybe. . . maybe it _was_ him. Maybe Shifty had been way off the mark. He was only guessing, right? Right. This could still be Ford’s brother.

 _Thud_.

Mabel jumped at the sudden noise, turning to it. In the center of the room, Ford had fallen to his knees, his face ashen.

_Oh no._

Mabel had imagined Stanley walking out from the portal. She’d imagined the brothers hugging and laughing and crying as they reunited. But this. . . this was nothing like that. Instead, a heavy silence hung over the room as Ford and the strange man stared at each other. Or. . . Mabel thought the man was staring. She couldn’t really tell with his eyes looking off in two different directions.

And Ford. . . the look on Ford’s face was terrifying and heartbreaking at the same time. He looked like he wanted to break something, but he didn’t move. He knelt there, stock still and silent, his mouth agape as he gazed at the man across the room.

“Grunkle Ford. . . ,” Dipper said. The sound of a human voice startled Mabel greatly. She’d almost forgotten that Dipper was even there. She met his eyes, and they looked as scared and despairing as she felt. He swallowed before continuing, “Grunkle Ford, who is that?”

Mabel also wanted to know. But at the same time, she didn’t. Unless Ford said that it was Stanley, the answer meant that all their hard work, all the danger they’d gone through, had been for _nothing_.

But she still had to find out. “F-Ford?” The word came out in a trembling whisper.

It took a long time for him to respond. Ford sat there in silence, his gaze fixed on the man from the portal.

Finally, he took a wet, shaky breath.

“That’s. . . ,” said the Author of the Journals, “. . . not my brother.”

 

 

 

 

 

**END OF SEASON TWO**


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